Dirty Deeds Done in Darkshore (for Dirt Cheap)
by Ihsan997
Summary: When a cult of renegade night elves tries to join the Horde, a contingent of grunts is sent to escort them to safety. Nobody realized just how hard it would be to switch sides. WARNING: the level of graphic violence is high, even for me; please accept my apologies in advance. I was toying with physical descriptions of warfare. Not for the feint-hearted. 8 chapters
1. Chapter 1

The moon's rays stabbed in through the canopy, standing like pillars on the forest floor. Even with so much mist hanging over the ground, the way the rays of dark light pierced the vapor caused every object, every movement to dance as if caught in a spotlight. Like a faded lamp breaking open the clouds, those weakened rays bursting in through the treetops lit up the entire trampled woodland in the deep east of Darkshore. Ironic, then, that those rays only increased the tension as the two sides stalked each other.

A column of decrepit troops decorated in the colors of the Dark Lady barely even noticed the sharp-featured fey creatures flanking them off in the distance. Barely even sentient, the hundred-strong skeletal soldiers didn't register any reaction despite the imminent threat around them. For hours, they'd marched through the woods undisturbed; their hostile hosts in the region clicked and chattered softly but hadn't yet dared to engage. Tension mounted among the few members of the living among them, only adding to the irritation tangible among the unhidden silhouettes shadowing them through the mist. Neither side seemed eager to initiate, neither side eager to test their mettle in a war of attrition. The sense on both sides that it would eventually occur anyway only increased the stress of the march.

Only a handful of soldiers on the column still walked the path of the living. Toward the front of the column of spearmen, the only two with flesh and heartbeats wondered just when, exactly, the inevitable would occur.

Of the two Darkspear men leading the way, a smaller, chattier one openly muttered his plans. "This whole thing was a set up, ya know," he said, looking up at his companion for signs of a reaction. When the other troll didn't answer, he continued trying. "I don't believe for a second what they told us back at the stronghold."

The other living spearman ignored him, instead focusing straight ahead and pretending not to watch their stalkers. Frustrated, the chatterbox continued prodding for a reaction. "Don't tell me you believing what they said, Rush. I never heard of anything like this, and it doesn't make sense." Twisting his gaunt neck around to see the creeping silhouettes over the horizon and then his unresponsive ally, the aged Darkspear continued. "I bet the people we be looking for are these, right here. Look, they wanted us to come out here."

His interlocutor communicated for the first time in half an hour, shaking his head while still looking forward. "We got orders. I didn't ask questions," he grunted dismissively.

In shock, the more talkative of the two flares up at him. "What - no. You serious? You don't even know why we're here?" The one named Rush didn't answer. "For real, you don't know what the mission is?"

"We're soldiers. Willow told Temma we're looking for people; Temma told me."

There was no addendum, no conclusion to the thought, and the chatty spearman looked practically incensed. "So you just follow orders blindly? That be it? You do anything they tell you?" Rush didn't answer, yet his silence simply couldn't end the conversation. "Rush, they say we got tree elf defectors. That's a load of kodo shit!"

Rush sneered in displeasure at the excessive questioning, but still wouldn't look down to meet his comrade's gaze. "It's not my concern," he replied tersely.

"Stop yakking!" hissed a voice from within the center of the skeletal spearmen forming a protective wall. In the middle of them all, a Blackrock grunt who slightly outranked them caught their attention with a tap of her spear. "We have hostiles in every side; something is up!"

Tematuri, a black Mag'har orc with red eyes which matched her Horde tabard, continued tapping the butt of her spear at the pair. At her side was the only sentient undead in their group, a diplomat outside the military hierarchy and thus patronizing to a fault. "You may think that I can't hear what you're saying...you may also find it in your best interest not to question orders. The General considers this mission high priority," said Willow in a raspy voice.

"I wasn't asking questions," the first troll replied defiantly. "He says he don't know why we be here; I'm trying to tell-"

"Tase, stop talking," Tematuri said while pointing at him.

"Yeah, just censor what you don't like to hear. Seriously, you can't be telling me that you actually think a bunch of tree elves want our help-"

"Tase, shut up!" Tematuri hissed frantically. Her eyes were wide and she began to look around, and even Rush finally stirred.

Through the mist, the silhouettes could be seen dashing about. Even with the sun blotted out by the twisted magic of angry Kaldorei, the sharp outlines of wolfmen could be clearly seen as they closed in. Bounding and snarling, dozens of them ran from all directions. Seemingly resigned to the lack of stealth provided by the oddly intense moonlight, the scores of lycanthrope charged in for an ugly melee. Spurred into action, the skeletons formed a protective square, facing outward and creating a wall of spears in all four directions. The usually condescending diplomat changed her tone rather quickly.

"Ambushes are easy to fend off, right?" Willow asked nervously as the snarles of the wolfmen became audible with their swift approach.

Tematuri held the Forsaken woman close to her in the center. "The General said he gave us the best; just stay with me! Tase, Rush, try to negate their command structure!"

Already by himself on the outside, Rush shook his head at Tase's false bravado and stepped away from the skeletons. The yellows of the eyes could be seen on the bestial Alliance strike force. Crawling on all fours, the wolfmen barked and snapped across the last few meters, making false charges and leaps as they tested the resolve of the skeletons. The animated piles of bones refuses to budge, displaying no fear as they maintained rank and file against the threatening displays of so many amassed worgen filling up every conceivable degree of vision.

Dew, dirt, and dust were kicked up at the wolfmen and skeleton soldiers faced each other down in what amounted to a horror writer's wet dream. The growling of the rabid worgen, combined with their back and forth false charges, contrasted so strongly with the obstinacy of the reanimated spearmen that the scene would have seem humorous were it not for the murderous intent on both sides. On the few occasions when the worgen strayed too close, the skeletons slid their spears outward like billiard cues, pulling the pole arms back and forth quickly for short stabs. Blood was drawn soon enough, irritating the worgen to the point of howling as they found themselves unable to move within striking distance of their comparatively diminutive targets.

Outside of the square was a different story. Rush provided a more intimidating target with his sentient, purposeful motion and more offensive posturing. Careful not to let any worgen move in between him and the skeletons to his back, he figuratively cut swathes into the noisy crowd of wolfmen. Foaming at the mouth in anger, those worgen in his vicinity directed their cacophony in his direction. Their frustration at their inability to close in on him grew until a few of them tried to slip behind him, leading to their swift deaths at bony, desiccated hands. The first few deaths on their side pushed the worgen over the edge, causing them to roar and spit and tear at the Greymane Royal Guard tabards they wore.

Rush felled two of them himself before the half circle which had formed around him began to back off. A third attempted to pounce on him, finding the Darkspear tank too sturdy for the all or nothing maneuver. Without even moving off balance, Rush simply skewered the wolfman in midair, shoving the beast off of the polearm once the damage had been done. A few more of the wolfmen tried the same on the skeletons only to find that the size disadvantage of the undead humans and orcs was compensated for by numbers. A few more of the worgen fell, finally forcing them to stand upright and draw weapons when savagery failed.

Falling back to the skeletons, Rush slouched low and poked furiously at the oncoming onslaught of properly armed Alliance soldiers. Once they'd evened their odds, their attention fell from him to focus on the entire formation, with the skeletons finally losing a few soldiers of their own to the slow war of attrition. Technically freed and unoccupied despite the increased risk, Rush was able to sidestep an honest charge from a royal guardsman and scan the rows of worgen for whatever the hell Tematuri wanted him to find. His search proved to be unnecessary, however, when what could be described as a living shadow lunged at him and kicked the spear from his hands.

Before the shaft even snapped, Rush instinctively shoved his attacker like a schoolyard bully and knocked the figure down. In a flash, the wolfman was back on its feet, snarling with hackles raised and snorting like a demon. An obvious alpha, the mottled worgen wasted no time in charging a second time. The command structure had found him.

"Horde scum!" the worgen hissed in crisp Orcish.

Thoroughly unimpressed, Rush eyed the long scabbard strapped to the worgen's back. "I'm gonna kill you with your own weapon," he said with disinterest as he charged too.

Though they were both unarmed, the alpha worgen had natural weapons. Its claws rent the flesh of the troll's upper arms, stinging him as the razor sharp tips managed to pierce his hide. The two of them smacked into each other, but the sudden surprise of the worgen's claws gave it the upper hand, and it pushed Rush away from the safety of the wall of skeletal spears. Rush grabbed the alpha by the throat, choking it and pulling it back toward the skeletons, causing the worgen flunkies who'd tried to swarm him to retreat temporarily. Their alpha refused to give up, scratching his hands until he let go and biting into his arm. The mass of sharp claws and teeth helped it escape from his grip, and by biting into him like a dog, the worgen alpha was able to drag Rush further away from the skeletons and into the crowd of wolfmen. And so their back and forth continued, both of them grappling rather than drawing weapons, taking turns pulling each other toward one of the two sides of spear tips in an attempt to lend their respective allies an easy kill.

Losing more blood than his opponent, Rush made a small sacrifice and let the alpha bite multiple layers of skin clean off of his arm. When it jerked back, he snaked his hands under its and clinched. With their fingers intertwined, the worgen quickly pierced his flesh with its claws again, locking their hands together. Hissing from the pain, Rush grit his teeth and dragged the worgen back to the skeletons with his own hands as anchors and his skin being pulled up by the worgen's claws like a tent. Equally matched in strength but not armament, the two of them remained halfway in between the two sides, though the troll looked worse for wear. The primitive soldier had an advantage in his thick skull and sloping forehead, however.

Waiting for the alpha's jaws to open for a fight-ending chomp, Rush reared back and then thrust forward with a headbut. His coldrock helmet slammed into the worgen's nose and teeth, shocking it beyond belief. Despite the blood dripping from his hands, Rush squeezed and pumped his grip as hard as he could, crushing the worgen's thinner fingers until joints popped and bending its wrists backwards in a high-stakes game of mercy. Without any dizziness, he headbutted the worgen again, causing its ears to ring, balance to falter, and claws to loosen. Pulling one hand free, Rush swung and punched the alpha right in the jaw with a slow, heavy uppercut that resonated so deeply down to the alpha's skull that its fellows in the area all flinched in phantom pain. The alpha worgen tumbled, collapsing to its hands and knees as it twisted. Rush grabbed the hilt sticking out of the wolfman's back scabbard mid fall, holding on and allowing an enviable greatsword to slide out. Attention temporarily moved away from the skeletons as the leader of the royal guard knelt prone.

Rush raised the blade up high. "I told you I'm gonna kill you with this," he repeated while offing the alpha execution style.

Nearly besieged behind the broken formation of skeletons, Tematuri pointed forward with her spear. "Swarm them, swarm them! Use shock and awe!" the orc yelled.

Springing into action surprisingly quick for undead, the skeletons finally took the offensive. With their leader very publicly ended and the animated bones poking at them more aggressively, the worgen fell into disarray. Paws padded away into the forest as the survivors trampled the corpses of what amounted to a third of their original numbers. The skeletons didn't pursue once the royal guard retreated, instead pulling back defensively while Willow stopped hiding behind Tematuri and surveyed the area.

"I knew we'd win," the ancient undead human said nervously.

"Check for survivors, now! We need to keep moving!" Tematuri ordered.

The skeletons swept the area wordlessly, counting quite a few lupine corpses as well as the shattered remains of a number of their own, too. Tase, having conveniently disappeared when the real fighting erupted, crawled out from behind the inner ring of spearmen.

"Well, I guess that proves this was all a hoax, then."

No sooner had he uttered those words than had Tematuri slapped him.

"Ow!"

She slapped him a few more times until he threw his head behind his hands and ran among the skeletons sorting corpses. "One more word out of you and I'll have you court martialed!" the orc snapped at him, slapping him on the back of the head as he ran away. "And remember...we...we...look!"

Though the skeletons paid no attention, Willow and Rush followed her gaze into the canopy. Dozens of pairs of glowing silver eyes peered down at them, and likely had been during the entire skirmish.


	2. Chapter 2

Dozens of eyes peered down at the Horde search party in the woods. Unblinking and nearly hollow, the tree people watched motionlessly in the aftermath of a violent confrontation. Without emotion or pretense, the eyes just stared down, waiting for the intruders to react first.

The skeletons, however, continued their search and ignored the tree people entirely. It was almost as if they didn't feel threatened by a bunch of unknown targets hanging above them.

"What on Outland..." Tematuri mumbled while crooking her neck up. "They look like those creepy wailing effigies the night elves leave outside their villages."

Willow cleared her throat. Despite her civilian diplomat status putting her in command of the mission, she didn't seem eager to make first contact with the unknown targets. Still spellbound, Tematuri didn't react until the undead human tugged at her tabard.

"Right, right," the orc mumbled. Rush moved to the other side of Willow, granting more cover to the civilian as Tematuri spoke. "Show yourselves! Who is it that watches us?"

Neither hostile nor intimidated, the many pairs of eyes among the branches bobbed up and down. Faint whispers danced in and out of the leaves like a cool breeze, and a few of the eyes bounced until they visibly melded into the outlines of slender beings. One pair in particular descended down the trunk of a tree without any rope or tools, climbing as if it were a natural movement. The form of an elf wearing tattered clothes materialized, still causing no alarm to the undead constructs monitoring the perimeter. Hair unkempt to a degree unusual for elves adorned the impoverished woman's head, and a simple white flag made from a stick and the remains of a weathered towel was her only possession. She reached the forest floor in sandals badly needing repair, waving the white flag but wavering between grinning and smiling in a way none of them were used to seeing from the vicious Kaldorei people.

Though Tematuri held her spear in a loose grip, she stood at attention as the strange little elf approached. Rush gripped his newly appropriated sword tightly, untrusting of anything with facial tattoos. Displaying a stunning lack of caution for a person waving a white flag, the weirdo bent over, looked at them sideways, straightened up, then bounced on her toes a few times.

Decent if accented Orcish flowed from her chapped lips. "Greetings, oh great servants of the red and black flag!" the weirdo said. "Misa of the Kaldorei greets you. Are you the messengers sent by the Dark Lady, the Lady who metes punishment?"

Tematuri almost spoke but stopped herself to nudge Willow. "Hmm? Oh, yes," the undead human coughed. "I'm Willow Withers of the Forsaken: deputy minister of Horde recordkeeping, herald of General Garamonde, who is commander of central Darkshore, instrument of the Banshee Queen. We have come searching for a community of night elves who claim they want to...defect."

Tematuri was already privy to the details of the mission; Rush, however, was not. His long ears wiggled beneath his helmet even as his expression remained stoic. The conversation was as difficult to believe as Tase had claimed, as much as he hated to admit it.

Misa's smile grew wide enough for her teeth to show, providing no elven restraint on her joy. "The priestess tells the truth! I knew you would come. You're here to save us all!" the night elf said while clutching her white flag close like an accessory. Her unrestrained happiness was disconcerting, her obvious sincerity notwithstanding. "Our prophecies have told of divine retribution for the sin of selfishness; if only our people would hear!"

Tase approached the others, looking at Tematuri and then Rush in a failed attempt to gain their attention. Even with her devotion to upholding the mission, though, the Blackrock grunt fidgeted in discomfort at the oddball addressing them. "Are your comrades above us armed?" Tematuri asked.

Misa waved her white flag around to sweep it across her view of the many eyes peering at them. "Woe be to us, for we have no means of defense," she sighed dramatically, a true, heartfelt melodrama that signaled her lack of awareness of how strange she seemed. "Our people have been disarmed and pacified by the local huntresses in a crushing weight of oppression, the burden of which has only increased since our prophecy has proven true!"

Ignoring Tase's mocking snicker, Willow raised her hands in a referee's timeout signal. "Alright, just to be clear: the night elf defectors who contacted us are you and your friends in the trees, yes? You work for a lady named Yawen?"

Misa's silver eyes flickered and she rubbed her thumb on her forehead in a bizarre gesture. "Goddess watch over her, the priestess holds the prophecy!" she beamed like a naïve backwater villager.

Taken aback, Willow tried to formulate a brief response that would prevent any more babbling. "O...Kay, then. It seems that we've been given the correct directions, though this is still several miles from the point marked on the map your people sent. Are there more of you whom we need to meet? I'd like to take a head count of your group before we engage in discussion."

"No; the time of our pilgrimage is at hand, for we are all here with you." Misa swept her hand across the air again, motioning to the many silver eyes. "When the tree of selfishness was removed by the Dark Lady, the oppressors knew the truth of our message. They destroyed our refuge to make us refugees, such is their loathing of the truth!"

"So, you..." Willow rubbed her dry, undead eyes. "No, as in, there aren't any more of you to meet?"

"You have spoken correctly, oh herald; all two hundred and sixty three of us are here," Misa replied.

Rush and Tematuri glanced at each other and then up in the trees. "That's a lot of people hiding in branches," Temma murmured.

Suspicious but no longer nervous, Willow paused for a moment. Misa continued clutching the flag with a hopeful glint in her eyes. Eventually, the undead seemed to have collected her thoughts. "Very well. I need to see Yawen, just to confirm what I've been told by the minister. If you're all here, then I assume your leader is among you."

"The priestess knew that the herald would want to speak!" Misa chirped. "However, she does not speak Orcish or Common, so I'll translate. I will inform her upon your request."

"I sort of just requested right now. Please call her down here," Willow said, outwardly patient but furrowing her brow in a way that, to those familiar with her, meant impending punishment.

"Indeed!"

After an awkward curtsy, Misa turned and scampered back of the tree trunk. Her form shadowmelded and blended in to the greenery, denoted only by the two silver eyes bouncing around among the others. Thin branches rattled and leaves rustled in the sign of a sort of discussion. As the tree people deliberated amongst themselves, Tase tried to creep up on the other sentient members of their group.

"They be lying," he whispered to the others.

Temma barely even acknowledged him. "Quiet. Willow, what do you make of this?"

The undead human pursed her thin lips tightly. She appeared to be in deep thought, and she didn't even turn to her companions to reply. "When I was charged with inspecting the claims of these people, the higher ups back at the stronghold pretty strongly implied that they want to see us bring these people back."

"You being serious?" Tase asked.

"Shut your pie hole," Temma said flippantly. "Willow...you're not happy about something."

More whispers teased their ears from the canopy, temporarily distracting the Forsaken diplomat. "Yes. My greatest hope was that these supposed defectors would be able to offer intelligence...military secrets, or at least a map."

"But they can't," Tase said, this time being ignored by everyone.

"You don't think they would at least have observed troop movements?" Temma asked.

"No, I don't. They seem to be outcasts; these are uneducated, unrefined people from the backwoods. We can still gain a propaganda victory from this. We can parade a few of them around the capital, perhaps promote a few to token positions where they communicate with neutral organizations to embarrass the Alliance, but they wouldn't be alone in that, or as effective as the pandaren. This is still a net gain, but these people stand to gain more from the Horde's protection than the Horde does from their defection."

"That's why we should be-"

"Tase, shut the fuck up," Temma hissed before turning back to Willow. "So what will we do, then?"

Willow glanced upward. "Now? We meet their so-called leader, it seems."

A number of the eyes in the trees began to descend, perhaps ten of them, leaving the others to hang back in hollows and nests. Bodies began to form from the darkness as the reception party reached the forest floor, revealing more disheveled looking night elves following Misa. None of them were armed, and they all bore the same unwittingly strange mannerisms of Misa. They all formed a circle around one figure, the only one of them fortunate enough to be wearing white linen (albeit faded and weathered). To the surprise of Willow, Rush, and Temma, there were actually night elf children - teenagers, even - with the group. The youths huddled around the linen-clad priestess, holding her hands as well as a sort of talisman which appeared to illuminate the darkness without light.

Bowing her head deferently, Misa shared a few words with the priestess before turning to regard their visitors. "Herald, I introduce you to Priestess Yawen, bringer of the truth!" In unison, the other adult night elves also bowed to their leader, causing Tase to snicker until Rush stepped on his foot and caused him to gasp.

"It's a pleasure to meet your priestess," Willow replied. "Please tell her who I am, that I greet her, and that I'd like to know - first and foremost - why the government of the night elves has a problem with your people."

"I am honored." Misa then turned to Yawen, speaking excitedly in their language. Yawen nodded slowly, appearing even more ancient than Willow despite being alive, and said very little. Once she'd given her answers, Misa turned back to the Horde visitors. "Our priestess speaks with few words, but they bear deep meanings. Please have patience with me as I narrate to you her wisdom." Audaciously, Tase actually tried to make another comment, but shrank when Temma turned her head toward him, leaving Misa to translate what had sounded like a few sentences into an entire speech.

"Many of our race opposed the growing of Teldrassil. To seek immortality a second time constituted an act of ultimate selfishness, and selfishness is an ultimate sin in our faith. As our Priestess tried to warn the Sisterhood, this constituted what in our language is called an 'ultimate ultimate,' the most calamitous of travesties. Verily, she warned them, as did others, but the difference is that Priestess Yawen spoke with the weight of scripture and tradition behind her words. This threatened the Sisterhood, and so she was jailed briefly.

"When the Cataclysm occurred, our Priestess foresaw that it was only a warning, a gift from Elune to grant the night elves time to correct our error. The Sisterhood jailed Priestess Yawen for a second time and accused her of heresy. She refused to cease in her teaching of selflessness, to the point that she was falsely accused of demonic influence. During the Legion's final invasion, our people were forcibly disarmed based on this slander, and anyone associated with our Priestess and her teachings were evicted from their homes. Exiled in the wilderness, we retreated into prayers of forgiveness on behalf of our race until...the Dark Lady's divine punishment."

Rush bristled. Despite his love of the Horde, he was still shellshocked by witnessing the burning of Teldrassil with so many civilians inside. Even Temma shifted uncomfortably, though Willow was unmoved. "You speak of the Burning of Teldrassil?" the undead asked clinically and without emotion.

Misa's eyes lit up as if she'd received the greatest news in the world. "Indeed. Through the Dark Lady's actions, divine retribution has been enacted and the prophecy has come to pass. Through the Horde, our Priestess has been vindicated. It is for this reason that we are obligated to support the Horde. As you may see by our unenviable situation, upholding the truth has become increasingly difficult for us here. For this reason, Priestess Yawen has explained to us her dreams of the oases in the Northern Barrens."

Like a Bilgewater businesswoman, the undead human's eyes took their turn lighting up. "So you seek refugee status in Horde territory, hoping that I can facilitate safe passing from Darkshore," Willow murmured presumptuously.

Misa continued smiling but paused. "Just one moment," she said without explanation and turned to Yawen. After a brief moment of chatter in elf language, Misa turned back to them. "Priestess Yawen has predicted that we'll live permanently under the banner of the Horde; not as refugees awaiting return."

"I see," Willow replied.

"Yes, she foresees us joining your ranks, not as outsiders." Misa seemed absolutely convinced that she was translating exactly what would come to pass rather than a request. "Even if these lands are conquered for the Dark Lady, our prophecy leads us to establish a community in the Northern Barrens wherein we may tend to the oasis, children of the stars yet loyal to the red and black banner. For this, we seek your formal approval and surrender all that we have to better facilitate our journey together."

Though she made no expression, the slight indignance in Willow's manner was clear to the Horde soldiers who knew her. Despite being equally presumptuous in her manner, she seemed bothered by the gravity of the assumptions made by the weird, impoverished night elves.

"Please allow me to confer with my fellows," Willow said, pulling Temma and Rush away from the Kaldorei translator. Misa folded her hands in front of her and bounced up and down with hope in her eyes.

Once they were out of earshot, Willow formed a triangle with her two direct reports. Her displeasure was almost tangible, and both Temma and Rush looked at her expectantly. She frowned. "I'm calling it in," she said, though neither of them understood what she meant. "What I mean is, I'm sending a carrier pigeon back to the stronghold. I'll tell them that we have a group of refugees, and that they need to be on the next cargo ship to Durotar. My higher ups can work on their resettlement then."

"You're displeased," Temma whispered within the triangle.

Willow nodded. "Just keep these people from wandering off. The skeletons will form a perimeter while we wait for a reply from the stronghold so we can march. Those Gilnean beasts are still about, and we need to get out of here and get these people off of our hands." She pulled back, signaling the end of the team huddle. "It's not a good win, and we're still in hostile territory. We have little to gain and everything to lose...stay alert."


	3. Chapter 3

Hours passed while the isolated part of the woods became a makeshift camp. Skeletons marched around the perimeter, providing constant - if not particularly intelligent - security for the excited elves in the trees. When counting both living and undead, there were a few hundred bodies in the heavily wooded area. Too crowded with trees to even be a clearing, there was neither definite cover from prying eyes nor soft cover to hide behind, leading to a sense of constantly being exposed to hostile forces.

Rush stood outside the ring of people, whose bodies were the only defining boundaries of their camp. The lack of any sort of fortifications had put him on edge almost as much as the stunning lack of any trace of enemies. From the moment the undead carrier pigeon had left westward to the coast, there hadn't been a hint of any other sentient life in the area. Staring into the mist, he found himself stressed by his inability to relax for a split second; the notion that they could fend off such an attack without retaliation seemed too convenient.

Lighter footsteps approached, and he sighed internally. Tase ambled up next to him, staring in the same direction without realizing that two observers in one direction didn't serve the camp particularly well. The two Darkspear stood in silence before it was unsurprisingly broken.

"They be lying," Tase said, repeating a line he'd dropped hours before. After a few seconds, the group skeptic realized that he hadn't received any reaction. "This whole situation reeks like elf stink. I don't trust any of them."

A quiet moment passed while Rush observed a shadow in the mist which turned out to be a squirrel. Oblivious to their patrol duty, Tase continued fishing for a response. "Don't tell me you believe any of this crap," the wiry chatterbox said. "These people be nuts. They be crazy in the coconut. Willow made a mistake-"

"I'm telling her you said that," Rush snapped at him. It hadn't been the response Tase had expected, and the latter paused at a loss for words. Hurt and curiosity swirled on Tase's asymmetrical face, and Rush grew tired of the annoyance. "Check your loyalties and respect the authorities," Rush grunted.

The two men stared each other down for a few seconds. Though stunned, Tase wasn't so easily shamed, and his shock gave way to an unjustified sense of betrayal. "So it be like that?" Tase asked indignantly. Tension mounted from Tase's direction, but Rush refused to return the feeling and turned away in disinterest.

"Yeah. Like that."

Audacious to the very end, Tase made a show of swinging his baldric around as if to brush his fellow tribesman off. "Never figured you for a snitch," he muttered as he turned to walk away. He was already out of reach by the time Rush thought of hitting him.

"Snitches go behind peoples' backs; I'm telling you right to your face that I'm gonna report any sedition I see," Rush growled after him.

Tase stopped walking for a second when he heard but then continued walking to another point in the woods where he could actually do his job. The bitter man hunched low to the ground and fiddled with his spear, likely muttering curses to himself. Though Rush couldn't be at peace in hostile territory, he was at least less distracted once Tase had taken the not-so-subtle hint and left him alone.

His mind preoccupied by his vigil, Rush soon forgot about the exchange and began to scan the mist once more. The way the moon remained darkened played games with visibility given the humidity, constantly leading him to believe that he'd seen hostile targets only to reveal nothing more than falling leaves or buzzing bees. By the time another, less unwelcome set of footsteps approached him, he'd lost track of them time.

"We have food ready," Temma said from behind him. She remained a ways away, making no efforts to replace him. "Tase already ate and Willow pulled herself away from the locals long enough to help him keep watch."

Though she outranked him, Rush still frowned uneasily at Temma's order. "She's a civilian; she'll have difficulty helping him," he said with his head bowed respectfully.

"She insisted," Temma said. "Plus, it's been hours since the dogmen retreated. They're not so patient as to wait this long before regrouping; they likely cut their losses and pulled back."

She could have been less polite in her orders, so he followed he without further resistance. More skeletons replaced him, keeping up their watch competently enough. To his gratitude, she and the others had set up a campfire away from the locals, possibly saving him from more weird conversations. Firewood and flat rocks had been used to boil what appeared to be stew cooked inside of coffee and ale mugs. They hadn't much in the way of supplies, but he then realized that he was too hungry to care about propriety.

The two of them sat down and found the mugs used to boil the stew in batches were too hot to touch. "Here, switch them to other ones," Temma said while grabbing two empty tin cans. "Most of the heat is trapped in the vessel's; the soup will cool down faster this way."

They took turns holding the various containers with leather scraps as gloves, pouring them in and out until the steam stopped rising from the stews. They had a number of cups and cans filled with the stuff and had to play a sort of musical chairs game in order for her plan to work. Eventually, they gave up and just waited and sat on a pair of logs.

When Rush continued scanning the trees, she hit him on the leg. "Stop. The bonebags have it covered," Temma said.

He turned away uneasily. "You're right; we're probably in the clear. I just don't trust these things to have our backs." He thumbed to a skeletal soldier passing by, unaware or unconcerned by the slight.

Temma nodded and folded her hands over her knee. "Me neither. This isn't my favorite assignment, I have to admit."

Though she appeared comfortable, her lack of enthusiasm was apparent in her voice. Rush wondered...he'd been wary of criticizing the decisions of superiors around the wrong people; he certainly didn't want to become like Tase. Temma was a friend of his girlfriend, however, and he wondered if this was a situation where he could speak freely.

"Were you there?"

Temma had been focused on their food and took a few seconds to realize that he'd asked her a question. Her gaze snapped up to him. "For what?" she asked, sincerely unsure.

He paused for only a second before deciding to just breach the topic. "For the burning of Teldrassil," he replied.

Despite her stoic demeanor at the campfire, the way her eyes lost focus made her suddenly appear half a century older. "I was...I was," she replied slowly, not cautiously so much as in a state of mental fatigue from the issue. He'd found a kindred spirit.

"At the moment? Like, you saw it start?"

She nodded solemnly. "It was by chance. I'd been searching elf corpses for survivors to arrest, and my head was turned in that direction. I saw the tree go up in flames." This time, she shook her head, though also solemnly. "It was premature. We could have waited until the rest of the people living there had evacuated. It was a very careless move, even from a tactical standpoint."

Shocked by her candor, Rush glanced around to be sure that only skeletons were within earshot. Temma was even more forward than he'd been when passively opposing the event. A part of him still felt guilty for speaking negatively of Horde leadership, but another part longed to reconcile what had happened with his own vision of their faction.

"It's funny...your people were hunted for a long time and interned. Mine were nearly wiped out and chased onto an island. The Forsaken are trying to pick up the pieces after what the Scourge did to them. But...when I think of what happened to the elves' magic tree...I feel it. I feel their pain. I'll never stop fighting to protect the Horde, but these people are gonna come at us ten times harder now. They hurt like we do."

Temma sighed and checked the temperature of the stew containers. "It's Good now," she said while handing him a tin can full of stew. She began to sip on her own like a drink, chewing on the meat and tubers inside. "Yeah, I don't know. I don't know about pain and all that," she said with a resigned sort of tone, "but I know that a lot of people died who shouldn't have, and there's no going back. Maybe the Draenei or those void elf things could have been reasoned with, but not the tree elves. They're out for blood and they won't stop."

Rush finished the first cup of stew, ignoring the unpleasant odor so common with preserved rations. The stew was thick like mud and the meat seems undercooked, but it was food. "For the Horde...for the Warchief," he murmured, more out of weariness than hesitation, "but I hope she has a change of heart."

Temma's pause worried him at first, making him to think he'd gone too far for a split second, but she reassured him with her humor. "Well, tell that to these things," she said while pointing toward a group of the renegade night elves praying around their priestess. Were Tase to have made the same comment, Rush likely would have been upset, but he knew Temma didn't mean to disrespect the mission.

"You don't buy into their prophecy either?" Rush chuckled lightly despite the sour flavor of his second cup of stew.

"No, no, and no. I'll be glad once we can get these people on the next transport ship and let the druids in the Barrens put up with them."

She stopped to gag on her own second serving, similarly displeased by the taste and consistency. "They really seem to think the Burning was a good thing," he said.

"The death in a fire of maybe a fifth of their entire population, maybe even more," she said in between sips and bites. "It's just bizarre. Here we are, regretful about the loss of life, yet these people are cheering the loss of their own kind."

"It's sick is what it is. It's sicker that they use their beliefs to justify the deaths of their own people."

"They're wrong, you know," Temma replied. "I mean, I'm not an expert in whatever night elves believe in, but I know a little bit. And what they're saying, from what I know, is completely wrong. In their own belief system, I mean."

"I got you."

"I heard about some of them being against growing Teldrassil, and some controversy about selfishness, but what happened being foretold as punishment? Deathwing being a harbinger? I think their priestess made all of that up." Temma waved her hand as if to brush aside her own words. "But if they pledge their allegiance to the Horde, whatever. Let them believe in what they want to believe in, even if it's wrong. I just hope that they stay in a weird little oasis and never come out."

"I'll drink to that," Rush said while gulping down a third cup of stew. "Or eat. This stuff is so thick."

"I know, right?" Temma made a bitter beer type of face and watched the campfire for a few moments. Time passed, and the two of them sat like beaches whales, full of nasty stew and mental fatigue.

The flames danced in the fire, almost waving to them as they watched. That drowsy feeling after eating a heavy meal settled in, making the mission all the worse. Rush felt his head begin to droop, though a light stomachache kept him awake.

"Rush?" Temma said to the side. He continued watching the flames, too tired to face her.

"Yeah?"

"Rush, I'm talking to you. Hey, can you hear me?"

"I hear you fine." When he finall did turn, he noticed that her eyes seemed closed. Or maybe it was dark...he couldn't tell. "I heard you," he repeated.

Her lips moved, but he couldn't quite hear what she was saying. He tried to read her lips and thought he could make out the words 'expired' and 'heartburn,' but he felt his sense of balance temporarily wane. His head lolled back and he let his arm slide into the grass to avoid falling down.

"Something wrong with the food," Temma babbled somewhere beyond his peripheral vision.

Another brief stomachache struck Rush before he was taken by a relaxing numbness. Much like the feeling in the wake of a victory feast, a sense of euphoria diminished his motivation to get back up. Grass began to tickle his ear as he fell, and the colors of the leaves overhead darkened.

In the back of his mind, he thought he heard Willow scream, followed by the sound of wagon wheels grinding. Thin, wispy elven hands passed over him as he was moved around, the last sensation he knew before passing out.


	4. Chapter 4

"My wrists...ankles hurt..."

The sound of his own voice was the first thing Rush noticed as he crawled out of his sleep. He couldn't quite explain how he was mumbling about the pain before he even felt it. A few seconds after he woke himself up complaining, though, he most certainly did feel it. A blunt, troubling pain in all four limbs struck him, waking him up even faster with the deep, dull ache. Even though his vision and sense of balance hadn't returned yet, he definitely noticed the pain on the inside of his wrists and ankles.

Wooden wheels ground into the soil, crunching leaves and pine cones along with pebbles and whatever was beneath a sort of vehicle. Lack of control of his limbs mixed with the surprising amount of noise outside the vehicle, dragging him more and more quickly out of his slumber with every bump in the road which shook the wagon. Attempts to discern his surroundings were hampered by the specific location of the pain, which worried him before he even knew why.

Images of Temma passing out and skeletons marching past danced around his head. Even through the haze, Rush struggled to collect his memories and discover what exactly had lead him to that point. The pain, the sudden realization that he was immobile, the sound of elven weeping, the grinding of wheels - all of it caused the troll to panic so much that he pulled himself out of the mental and physical haze by the fingertips. The blurry image of granulated wood greeted him, and he realized that he was inside of a moving object. Bumps in whatever terrain they were covering shook his body, sending his torso up and deepening the dull ache in his limbs when they stayed down. He could vaguely see bars on the end of the vehicle near his feet, but the anchors pinning them down swept all else from his thoughts.

Knives, fine sharpened knives of Darnassian variety, stood up straight within the wounds cut into his flesh. Likely driven into the floor, the knives gleamed in what little light from the blackened moon filtered in through the bars. The hilts were engraved, indicating ceremonial rather than martial design, but those razor sharp blades hurt all the same.

Rush counted...one through each ankle, one through each wrist. Only then did he realize that he was a bit dizzy, possibly due to blood loss, though they must have missed his arteries since he hadn't actually died due to said blood loss. Still, there was so much of his own blood coating his own limbs as well as parts of the floor he could see that he almost learned what a panic attack feels like for the first time in his life. The dullness of the ache meant that he'd been unconscious with the blades sticking in him for a while. Whoever had dragged his unconscious body into that wagon or whatever had meant to keep him pinned there like an insect on a dissection table.

One by one, he began to raise his limbs up to the hilts of the knives. The pain had grown so constant, and so lacking in the sharpness of the blades themselves, that letting his impaled limbs slide up and down the perfectly shaped knives didn't cause much more damage. Carefully, ever so carefully, he raised his limbs until the skin of his wrists and ankles pressed against the knife hilts, allowing him to pry them back and forth in the wooden floor. It was slow, painstaking work, but the vehicle he was trapped in moved even more slowly; by the time he'd quietly pried the knives out of the wood and his skin, they'd barely covered any ground.

Rush laid back down to avoid drawing attention to himself, though through the bars, he could see a sealed wagon car without windows being pulled behind his with a rope. That was really all he could see, and with a little more blood dripping from his damaged tissue, all he could do was lay on the floor and wait for his body to naturally put itself back together.

As the deep holes in his ankles and wrists began to mend and close up, his sense of panic receded and gave way to a resentment deeper than the throbbing pain. The stomachache he'd felt before passing out haunted him, and he cursed himself quietly for eating stinky stew without considering the consequences. He could vaguely remember being carried, but there was little else to go on. Guesswork led him to believe that he'd been nailed down inside a wagon as a proof of kill, though that didn't make sense - beheading was more common in such quests. He tried to come up with several more possibilities, yet all of them fell apart under scrutiny, leading his anger to fester along with the stench of his own blood in that little wagon.

Enraged regeneration fueled his healing, and his feet and hands flexed involuntarily. Tendons and sinews tugged painfully at first as his limbs nervously twitched, but the more irate he became, the more aggressively his cells repaired themselves and biologically stitched him back together again. Eventually, the pain dissipated along with the sensitive coldness in a freshly mended wound.

Another bump in the road helped him to sit up and ignore the aches of having been nailed to the floor for loa know how long. Unable to see anything other than the closed wagon behind him, unable to hear anything other than the unnecessarily loud wagon wheels, he felt the last thread of his patience tear.

"Screw strategy," he grumbled while arming himself with all four knives.

The wooden corner of the wagon easily broke open when he kicked it, forcing the wood to bend against the metal bars. The entire wagon shook and reared backward, leading to a cacophony of screaming elk, rumbling wagon parts, yelling in elf talk, and a body hitting the ground. After a few seconds suspended in the air, the wagon's rear wheels fell to the ground again, causing objects and a person to slide across the roof above him. Rush broke the entire left side of the wagon when he slammed himself against it, this time causing the front and back wheels on the right side only to rise up off the ground for a second. He hit the grass hard and rolled over a few rocks, bruising himself up and making him aware of the fact that he'd been stripped of his armor while unconscious.

He stumbled to his feet in time to see three wagons tied together in a line as well as a couple of elks pulling the wagon train at the front. The frightened animals reared back, pulling against the ropes gripped by their handlers, all cut off by a vindicator charging-

"Raaa!" screamed the Draenei fanatic while swinging a big spiked mace.

His attention cut off from the wagon train in the dense woods, Rush dove out of the way and narrowly escaped having his skull crushed. Armored head to toe, the vindicator screamed again in what sounded like Eredun, every bit as fanatical as a demon. The big mace came up in the air again, but Rush tackled the Draenei hard at the apex of its swing. The blue demon toppled over, dropping its mace and hitting the ground like a ton of bricks. Clothed only in his shorts, Rush easily grappled the cloven-footed demon and pinned it down. A swift knife thrust into the gap between the Draenei's chain coif and chestplate nearly severed its neck. A final healing spell fizzled out as the blue demon died, but there was no time to rest.

A serrated arrow pierced Rush in the meat of his shoulder, causing him to jerk just enough that a second arrow missed his head by a millimeter. He reacted by throwing a knife at the source, garnering an eerily wispy cry when the blade impaled a night elf archer in the wrist in a similar position to how he'd been injured mere moments prior. A second thrown knife hit her in the hip, causing her to drop her bow while the second archer reloaded. Rush rushed at them, only noticing that the second one was a rare male archer just as he hit and knocked down the night elf man.

"Yargh!" Rush grunted when he felt a blade eat into his hamstring.

He turned away from the dazed male night elf sprawled on the ground to find the female still fighting. The harpy-like elf had pulled the knife from her hip out and used it to stab Rush in the leg, then stabbed him in the arm with the other knife when he turned around. When he grabbed her and broke her already bleeding wrist, she ignored her injury entirely, grabbed the knife from her injured hand with her healthy one, and cut off half of his left ear. "Die!" he hissed while snapping her neck.

The male elf reached for the knife stuck in the troll's leg and yanked it out, but Rush grabbed the man by the throat and repeatedly stabbed him all over. More elk screaming drew his attention away from the two archer corpses, and Rush hurried to the front of the wagon train to find two civilian night elves trying to calm the riding animals. Both the elks and the elves screamed at the sight of the blood-spattered troll, and Rush would have enjoyed taking out his residual anger on them like punching bags, but the realization that they were unarmed caused him to begrudgingly stay his hand. Instead, he grabbed the pair by the hair and dragged them back to see the corpses.

"Speak Orcish now," he ordered the two wagon drivers, though they just babbled at him fearfully in Common. "Here," Rush said while pointing to the third and last wagon in the train. "Who's in here?" The pair knelt down and began to beg, likely thinking that he'd kill them too, so he simply threw them at the wagon and made the motion for unlocking a door. "Open it."

Fumbling with keys, the wagon drivers opened the final wagon, shrieking in terror and falling to the ground when a pile of bones leapt out at them.

"Stop! Not these two!" Rush yelled at the skeleton, correctly guessing that it was one of those sent with them by the Forsaken. The risen undead obeyed, much to his surprise - he thought they'd only obey Willow. "Hold them and don't let them run away," he said, leading the naked skeleton to grab the groveling wagon drivers by the ears.

Darkness from the blackened moon obscured the rest of wagon, and Rush tap the edge with a knife. The occupants could see him, apparently, and another pair of glowing silver eyes looked up at him. A disheveled figure crawled out and tried to grab his hand, but Rush grabbed her first even when he recognized the sullied face of Misa.

"Agent of the herald!" Misa exclaimed as she struggled in his arms.

"Shut it," he growled, memories of being carried by elves reminding him of what had happened after he passed out. "Be glad that I need you alive."

Oblivious as always, Misa didn't seem to realize the danger she was in every time she tried to cling to his arm. "Verily, we have suffered the greatest of losses!" the ragamuffin said with an almost musical waver in her voice.

"You're about to suffer a lot more for this," he said while shaking her by the shoulders threateningly.

Despite her odd diction and bizarre beliefs, Misa was surprisingly coherent when under pressure. "Oh agent, stalwart agent, your accusation is as hurtful as it is understandable given your situation! Allow me to explain what you missed, please!"

"Oh, I think I know. You people tricked us so you could kidnap Willow."

"Then why was I also locked in a wagon, along with your skeleton?" Misa asked without a hint of resentment in her voice despite being accused of treachery.

Stumped by her question, Rush furrowed his heavy brow and muttered a false start. "Well...I...shut up! Uh...wait, why were you in a wagon?"

"Indeed, why is the key to understanding!" Misa replied, unaware of how frustrating she was to talk to. "For it was not us who betrayed you, but another. One who sent a signal to the auxiliaries of the oppressors!"

"Just tell me the facts, you freakish windbag."

Oddly, Misa struggled more with brevity than verbosity. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and she seemed confused as to how she could speak directly about an idea. "Tase sold you out to the Army of the Black Moon," Misa said after a measure of difficulty.

"What!" he asked incredulously. "That's not..." He then paused, remembering just who his fellow tribesman was.

Rush stared down at her for a few moments. The pleading of the wagon drivers and the chirping of crickets faded away into his mind, melding into a droning, cicada-like buzz in his ears. Misa tried to speak to him a few more times, but she stopped once she noticed how tight the muscles in his face had become. The wagon drivers pleaded in tandem with the throbbing of a vein in his forehead, though only to a certain point; eventually, even they ceased their groveling and actually huddled closer to the skeleton holding them, finding the undead construct less threatening than the speechless soldier.

Ears burning hot all the way to the tips, Rush tried to focus on his breathing. His skin turned from blue to purple at the surface, and his back became a little more hunched, almost gnarled, as his body recoiled in disgust at his former comrade.

"Agent, plotting agent, what is it of which you ponder?"

Rush pulled his dry mouth into a frown. "I'm gonna rip his head," he growled to himself. "Gonna rip it right off of his body." His voice was almost like a whisper, which scared the wagon drivers even more. Even the blackened mood hadn't made the woods so gloomy before then. "Lock those two inside," he ordered the skeleton, which promptly did as it was told after taking the keys from the two wagon drivers.

Misa ran after Rush, who'd began to untie the two rear wagon cars from the front one with the elk still tied to it. "If you could, oh Agent of the herald-"

"My name's Ral'rush," he said while he separated the last two cars of the wagon train.

"Sir Ral, you know not what took place, even!"

He dragged the vindicator corpse over toward the wreckage of the second wagon car and began to strip the dead Draenei of its armor. "But I will soon, cause you'd best start talking now." He began to peel off whichever pieces of armor were cut to the right dimensions to fit him, though the vindicator's leg armor in particular seemed to be a lost cause.

"I am honored by your invitation to-" Misa stopped herself short when he turned his frown on her. "The one known as Tase offered our people to the Army of the Black Moon in exchange for personal immunity from them; he implied that he didn't expect to survive this mission otherwise."

"He told you this?"

"No, he told Willow this to try and make her feel better about being transported to a nearby sentinel grove. Sadly, I overheard while being beaten senselessly by the oppressive sentinels."

Rush paused while forcing the draenei's leathers and undershirt onto his differently shaped body and took a look at Misa. Only then did he notice that she seemed slightly more discolored and unkempt than usual. He felt anger over the mission failure but not particularly sorry for her. "Willow, Tematuri...are they alright?"

"Indeed, for that's why they were so oppressively taken with my people. They're scheduled to be put in an internment camp until the Horde caves in and pays their ransom. They won't be harmed, which is quite different from the sordid fate formerly awaiting you and I and your mighty ally of bones!"

"Good, they're okay, that would've been enough to say." Rush began to slip the articles of plate which could hold over his body, looking halfway like a vindicator from the waist up. "What was supposed to happen to us?"

Unemotional to the point of dissasociative behavior, Misa nodded to her own words. "We were selected to be nailed to trees on the edge of the woods near the Horde stronghold as a warning, with the skeleton's bones used to pierce our bodies and limbs," she said without an ounce of discomfort.

With as much armor on as he could manage, Rush took the vindicator's two-handed mace and took a one-handed practice swing. "Lovely. What about the other skeletons? Our contingent?"

"They fought valiantly and killed many sentinels. I would say they killed a few dozen before being destroyed themselves, down to this last valiant soldier with us here," Misa replied with an odd look of hope in her eyes that made Rush want to slap her.

"So our ranks are gone; it's just me, this skeleton, and Temma if I can get to her." Misa didn't seem offended when Rush didn't count her, so he continued plannin. "And do you know how to get to this sentinel grove?"

"Of course, stalwart agent. It's deep in the woods - the caravan holding my people is slow, and still closer to us than to the grove. It's a very secure location. Oh my!"

Without warning, Rush grabbed her and dragged her to the elks, which still edged away from him nervously. "Calm these things down with your elf magic. We're hijacking their caravan."


	5. Chapter 5

Tree branches brushed over the vindicator armor as the ridden elks dashed through the woods. The creatures moved much differently than raptors, less flexible yet somehow more graceful, covering a large amount of ground in a small amount of time. Misa, clad in the wagon driver's clothes like the skeleton seated behind her, struggled to explain anything and everything about their target as the animals ran into parts of inner Darkshore which seemed untamed even by her people.

"So the Army of the Black Moon sneakily assaulted our camp nary a moment after you and Tematuri lost consciousness," Misa said, continuing a meandering explanation as they rode.

"Yeah," Rush murmured in response, wary of potential spies and tired of hearing the weirdo's voice.

"Verily, the brave skeletons of the Banshee Queen were ill-prepared for an aerial assault from the canopy. Alas! Betrayal reached us all from above, from whence vengeful sentinels leapt upon us all."

"Yeah."

"Rest assured that the herald of the Banshee Queen fulfilled her duty to the utmost degree, calling her reanimated fellows to arms! Tematuri proved to be so capable a mission commander that many sentinels returned to the soil, ending the tyranny of at least a measure of their foul ranks."

"Uh huh."

"Woe! Woe to the oppressors, those who strike the unwitting! They do naught save increase their own sin. The dastardly ambush proved effective enough for their evil plan. One by one, the mighty undead soldiers fell, eventually forming a last stand around us. They fulfilled their duty, laying down their unlife for the sake of our protection."

"Yeah-"

"Hark, oh agent of the herald of the Dark Lady! As I tell you now, so it occurred. All of my people were bound in conjured vines and marched to the cramped wagons, drawn as slowly and onerously as a death row convoy. When I threw myself upon the sentinels to defend our Priestess, they seized me and delivered a terrible thrashing. The Priestess was then forced to watch as her husband Idos was drawn and quartered as a form of mental torture."

"You don't say."

"There remains with the convoy of death a dozen or so sentinels as escorts, hovering over the downtrodden followers of the truth who were carelessly crammed into only three wagons. Our two hundred and twenty five survivors have no space to even move as they mourn the loss of over forty who were massacred defending our children."

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Damnation was their desire for us, but nay, we shall overcome! For their convoy could not be more than half an hour's ride from us if we are to judge by the faint grinding of wheels. No doubt this audial disturbance has been caused by the convoy wagons, calling us to our heroic duty! Can you not see, oh agent of the herald, that the time is nigh for us-"

"Misa, let's play a game."

For a few seconds, the weird elf stuttered, struggling to regain her rhythm of speech in Orcish when interrupted. "I am honored to accept your challenge, mighty agent of the herald of the Dark Lady!" Misa replied with way too much enthusiasm.

Rush wrapped a torn-up burlap sack around his neck, nose, and tusks like a scarf, then tied his long ears behind his head with a strip of scrap cloth. "The name of the game is ultimate silence challenge. The way to win is to see who can be the quietest." He took a hood he'd pilfered from one of the wagon drivers and draped it over his head. From far away, he could almost pass for a snugly dressed Draenei vindicator with a cold. "Unless there are hostiles nearby. Then it's okay to talk."

Misa pulled her own stolen hood over her head, just like Rush and the skeleton had done. "I accept your challenge!" she whispered as they rode on in silence.

Finally saved from incessant chatter, Rush tried to focus on their surroundings. Unfortunately, Darkshore was creepy as hell, and every other forest noise put him on alert. His body remained tense as they followed the distant sound of the wagons in the woods. Unable to truly relax, he was nearly shaking with anticipation by the time the last of the three giant wagons came into view.

The pair of elk they were riding remained quiet as well, but whatever trick Misa had played on the two animals made them too loyal. They too remained tense when approaching their former masters, nervous in reaction to any perceived threat against their new masters. The outline of the last wagon loomed over the uneven horizon in the woods, obscured by trees and mist. As the wagon rolled over bumps and rocks, it swayed like a gigantic bog beast, the occasional limb of a captive flailing out like fungal tendrils or hairy algae writhing on a biological bog growth. The elk hesitated a few times as the sound of the grinding wheels grew louder, signaling to the trio that they were entering the danger zone.

"Verily, we have happened upon your aforementioned hostiles!" Misa whispered energetically.

Rush slowed down their elks, hanging back far enough that even if they could be heard by the sentinels, they couldn't yet be seen. "Alright, here's the plan. I'm a Draenei vindicator who got sick and can't talk. You're a wagon driver who's tired having delivered your cargo. The rest of our convoy took a detour due to our illness and their...Uh...wagon problems."

"And what of our stalwart skeleton, costumes as I yet unable to speak?" Misa thumbed toward the berobed skeleton riding behind her.

"Pretend he's sick too," Rush replied as they approached the agonizingly slow train of overcrowded wagons. "If they figure out who we are, then that thing will throw itself at the sentinels to distract them."

"For what purpose?"

As the first details of individual convoy guards materialized in the mist, Rush paused and waited for a brief jump in his heart rate to pass. He really didn't know. "To free your people," he bluffed, and then he slowly counted every item on his bucket list he hadn't scratched off. It was pretty much all of them.

Ever the fanatical optimist, Misa wiped the grime from her face and breathed in the moist air of the unnatural night. "Our time is now!" the zealot whispered.

Step by step, the elks caught up to the rest of the convoy. Rush dug his feet and shins into a cheap blanket he'd stolen from the wagon drivers and used as rudimentary barding. The vindicator's gauntlets fit sloppily over his three-fingered hands, succeeding only due to the heavy mist that obscured the details of his digits. Like an actual invalid, he broke out in a cold sweat as he and his two companions drew nearer than he'd ever been to an Alliance war party without his weapons drawn. Nervousness and frustration built up inside of him when his survival instinct was compelled to keep his aggression in check. He felt like a shackled raptor restrained inches away from his prey, the shackles in this case being common sense and the preference to avoid fighting twelve enemy soldiers headon.

Shivering beneath the vindicator armor and faking a cough, he compelled his elk to veer to the right and give him a better look of the convoy. He counted only three sentinels riding along the side though there was a cluster of people at the head of the convoy. At the sight of another troll's ears, Rush felt his anger boil up inside of him again like nasty acid reflux after a hard night off duty in Ratchet. In spite of the lack of detail in the mist at that distance, the only person who the mystery troll could be was Tase. Phantom pains teased Rush's wrists and ankles again, and he nearly growled out loud at the thought of the traitor being so close to him. All of that was stopped, of course, when he noticed the movement inside of the third wagon next to him.

Through hazy vision, the shifting of flesh had gone unnoticed for a long time. Just like the waving of leaves on a foggy day, the writhing motion of skin and cloth blended in so seamlessly with the surroundings that it practically became invisible. When Rush finally did notice, however, he gasped and coughed for real.

Inside the wagons were all of the zealous night elf defectors - all two hundred or so of them. Rather than being seated and bound, the people had been piled inside like sacks of grain, one on top of the other in a mass of meat so cramped that the viewer would almost feel constricted just by looking. Body upon body laid twisted into painful contortions in order to make all of them fit into only three large war wagons pulled by a team of bound elks. For sure some of the elven defectors had experienced fractures and other injuries due to the position; indeed, even those bodies at the top of the pile were pressed up against the ceiling and walls of the wagon so tightly that suffocation could have been a very real concern. Thick conjured vines wrapped around the wagons in order to prevent the bodies from spilling out, adding to the sense of visual discomfort.

Not one of Misa's people attempted to escape. Writhe as they did, there was no further movement to be noticed among those who hadn't yet been smothered to unconsciousness. A few limbs hung out of the confines of the wagon, slowly waving as the cumbersome vehicle rolled over the terrain, but nobody actually created any commotion. It was as if they'd all accepted their fate and were waiting for their judgment to arrive.

Even if they were heretics among their people, even if they were a burden, even if they were an identity-erasing cult, even if they were simply unpleasant people with ridiculous ideas, they were still people. As Rush watched the wagons roll and tried to ignore the cries of a handful of children also smothered in the mass of injured captives, he couldn't help but remember the destruction of Teldrassil. For many long nights, he'd laid awake on his bedroll wondering how many people had died of asphyxiation when the overgrown tree burned. His pride in being a part of the Horde hadn't lessened the pain he'd felt watching that tree burn; his sympathy for the Alliance didn't lessen the resentment he felt toward the sentinels doing the same thing to this weird cult now.

He watched the three sentinels on the right side; he waited. Outnumbered and lost in the woods, he resigned himself to having no real plan and shrugged to himself as he approached the third wagon.

"Loa, watch over my family," he whispered to himself as he reached for the vines holding in eighty someodd people in the third wagon.

A spindly, five-fingered Hand with sharp fingernails grabbed him by the shoulder. There had been a fourth sentinel riding behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Rush held absolutely still as his elk maintained pace with the wagons. The riding beast didn't react, though it surely knew there was a saber-rider next to them, and the jungle troll behaved in kind. The captive rebel night elves didn't seem to notice the exchange either, writhing and moaning as they had been. A lull passed over for a few seconds as the sentinel who'd grabbed him by the shoulder seemed to be testing him.

Perhaps believing his ruse for a second longer, the sentinel tried speaking to him. Unfortunately, Rush only knew a few words in Common, and dirty words at that, so the sentence to him sounded like: "forsooth thine own to be for sure blah blah blah," or something along those lines.

The sentinel's saber continued walking alongside his elk; Rush couldn't determine whether the animal was suspicious or not. The rider seemed confused more than anything, granting the Darkspear warrior a glimmer of hope. Bending his head down, he pretended to cough and gag as if nauseous, leaning his weight against the wagon to brace himself. Although the sentinel wasn't aggressive, she was clearly disturbed by his behavior and tried to pull him away after patting him on the back. In a flash, Rush felt his pulse spike dramatically as the impulse to act overtook him. He'd either barely succeed or die swiftly, but he wouldn't wait anymore.

With a fake dry heave, Rush gripped the vines wrapped around the third wagon and bent over, ripping the thick growths off as he pretended to throw up.

The sentinel let angry words spill from her mouth, though the way she tried to pull Rush away signaled frustration at his actions rather than outright suspicion. Scolding him like a schoolteacher, she insistently tried to pull him off of his elk, and he let her tug him around to give the semblance of fevered weakness. The elk followed suit, though his hand on a tarp which had been wrapped beneath the vines caused a tearing sound which was far too loud - especially for the nightsaber.

Claws scraped on arcanite as the saber attacked, shocking even its rider as it leapt up and threw itself against Rush. Unprepared for the assault, he fell from the elk, losing his blanket and toppling over his mount as he struggled to land on his feet. With the sentinel fighting to maintain her balance, Rush was able to position himself defensively, letting the saber's claws scratch harmlessly on the vindicator armor. His heart rate jumped again as he realized that his cover was blown, and he drew one of the knives he'd been impaled with and stabbed it straight into the big cat's ear.

"Horde!" the sentinel yelled just as her dead nightsaber collapsed on top of her and an arrow shot by an unseen attacker had already pierced the jungle troll's leg.

"Gah!" Rush gasped, realizing that the sentinel's were much quicker to react than he'd expected.

A hollow, undead scream cut into the mist on the other side of the wagon, signaling the reanimated warrior's own sneak attack. More battle cries met with the scream of an elk, and Rush spun around in time to see another huntress and her nightsaber bashed against the side of the wagon hard by his mount. A second huntress swiftly hamstrung the elk and disabled it, though not before Rush had charged and caved in the second big cat's skull with the spiked mace he'd stolen.

The rider leapt up and nearly cut his injured leg off with her glaive. "Die!" was one of the few words in Common he understood, followed by more attempts to amputate his unarmored shins by the huntress. With arrows bouncing off of his armor, Rush backpedalled to the first saber he'd killed, only remembering that the first rider was still alive when she crawled out from under it and twisted the arrow stuck in his leg.

"You die!" he hissed in Common while reaching back to grab her by the arm.

In a single desperate move, he yanked hard and used the first sentinel as a living weapon against the second. Amid the sound of many running boots and a skeleton being crushed, Rush beat the second sentinel into the ground using the first, shaking from anxiety as he realized that more people were running toward him. By the time he'd spun around, the true extent of the chaos struck him.

Hysterical screams filled the air as a pile of flesh poured out of the third wagon. Like water flowing out of a broken fish tank, the captive rebel elf cultists all fell out onto the ground, freed by his last-minute plan. Hitting the dirt so hard that a few of them were likely hurt in the process, the rebel tree people scrabbled on the forest floor like cats running from hunting hounds, tearing up soil and grass as they began to flee. More than one elf who fell from the wagon was stiff, deep into the process of rigor mortis, implying that the weird rebels had been laying among corpses. More cries of children mixed in with the inconsolable terror of the adults, adding to the sense of absolute pandemonium. Without hesitation, the renegade elves scattered in every direction, fleeing into the unknown with even less of a plan than Rush.

Just as shocked as Rush was that his plan actually worked, the sentinels on the other side of the wagon lost their bearings and began shouting instructions at each other. A few of them dismounted and tried to form a perimeter to prevent their captives from escaping, though the vast majority of the fleeing rebels escaped into the mist.

Rush pulled the arrow from his leg and recovered the mace, pushing himself to make a quick decision. On one side of the wagon, the sentinels broke their legendary formation and discipline to contain the escape of a bunch of rebellious heretics escaping their grasp; on the other side, a handful of those heretics had been caught by the other huntresses who'd been zeroing in on him. One rebel in particular was being mauled to death by one of the nightsaber's, screaming and reaching his hands out to the troll in a plea for salvation.

Chaos...chaos had saved Rush from fighting twelve people at once.

He ran past the rebel man being mauled by a big cat. "Sorry," the troll said after going over the simple calculus in his head and giving up the unfortunate rebel as a necessary sacrifice for time.

Knocking over an enemy archer as he ran to the second wagon, Rush broke the wagon wheel with his stolen mace and ripped the vines off of the second wagon, too. Pulling down as much of the tarp beneath the vines as he could, he let a second cohort of nearly a hundred impoverished, unwashed bodies spill out into the open. He was nearly crushed himself as the second wagon, bursting at the seams more than the others, sent a wave of elves onto the ground. Just like before, the scared rebels panicked and ran off in every direction, increasing the sentinels' frustration as they proved so disorganized and illogical that they couldn't be herded back to the wagons.

Air flowing towards him informed Rush of another attack, and he dodged just in time to avoid having his Achilles' tendon severed by another sentinel. Without even thinking, Rush backhanded her and caused her to trip over the archer he'd knocked down (apparently hard enough to leave her unconscious). More footsteps approaching helped his modest intellect to override his combat rage, and he left both of them to struggle to their feet as he pulled his mace out of the broken wagon and ran away. Both fleeing rebels and angry sentinels pursued, the latter due to vengeance and the former due to desperation. Both would only slow him down and increase his chances of being swarmed, and he ripped a wooden panel from the wagon and threw it behind him to slow down anyone chasing him. The first wagon awaited, along with two familiar voices.

"The cavalary has arrived!" gasped Tematuri from the first wagon.

Her voice was hoarse and taxed as if she were at the bottom of the pile of bodies, but hearing the sound of her gave Rush an adrenaline boost of hope. He reached to grab the vines wrapped around the first wagon, but an entire nightsaber pounced on his back before he could tear them off. The weight of the riding beast was surprising despite the big cats' reputation for being light on their feet, and even the stance of the troll arms warrior was broken. Rush stumbled and dropped his mace, veering into the mist and giving up his position to avoid falling down; to be pinned to the ground beneath one of those felines could spell a quick death when he'd already come so close to succeeding.

Trained to take down Horde raiders, the big cat clung to the troll's back and held on to his vindicator armor. The nightsaber swayed its body weight rather than trying to attack him outright, seemingly intelligent enough to know that knocking him down would be a good strategy. His fitness truly tested, Rush felt his muscles burn as he twisted and spun with the saber and tried to keep his balance. Letting his instinct take over, he grabbed the oversized pauldrons of his vindicator armor and tore them off, granting his upper body more freedom of movement. The metal shoulder armor proved a decent bludgeoning tool as well, and he reached back and smacked the nightsaber in the head with one hard enough to shake the animal off of him. Aiming for his exposed calves, the nightsaber swiped at his legs and thankfully hit the plates covering Rush's thighs instead, granting him enough time for another desperation move. Panicked himself, Rush ran straight into the big cat and gouged its eyes out with his thumbs.

The beast's roar caused one of his eardrums to swell painfully. The gruesome tactic worked, however, and Rush fled and left the blind beast to its own devices in the mist. His panic transformed into a less fearful sense of urgency, and Rush stumbled in the mist following the screams of more rebel elves fleeing the surviving sentinels. He was so close to winning.

Following the outline of the first wagon, he ran at a more even pace, intending to free his comrades until a sentinel hit him-

"Argh!" he grunted, more in shock than in pain as he was hit with a cheap shot from the side.

Metal screamed as a sharp blade struck his armor. The vindicator plate proved sound as the blade failed to cause exterior damage, but the mere force of being hit with an object knocked him off balance and away from the first wagon. Without bothering to look, he reared back on the opposite side from the attack and struck his assailant with his elbow. The sentinel he'd backhanded earlier grunted and lost her footing from the blow, granting him enough time to kick her in the kneecap and shove her away to roll in the dirt and grasp her knee in pain. He could feel victory in his grasp - an undefined, poorly planned victory, but a victory nonetheless if he could just break open the final wagon.

"Help! Help, we're in here!" Willow shouted from inside the vehicle, though Rush found another occupant clinging to his back as he tried to find the vines.

A male sentinel, possibly the rider of the now blind nightsaber, put Rush in a sleeper hold and wrapped his legs around the troll's waist. The chokehold was surprisingly effective, the sentinel's arm wrapped perfectly beneath the rim of the troll's helmet and above the top of the chest plate. The mail coif which protected Rush's neck from edged weapons did nothing to stop crushing force, and the Horde warrior once again found himself prevented from opening the first wagon. The rebel elves wouldn't be fleeing forever, and if the sentinel clinging to his back could delay Rush long enough, he'd find himself swarmed by the survivors.

His breath running out fast, Rush grabbed the sentinel's legs and slammed both of them to the ground. A quick twist to the sentinel's ankle caused the man to cry out in pain, and Rush arched his back and pushed with his legs until he powered his way out of the hold. Pressing his knees and palm onto the sentinel's body, the jungle troll used his latest assailant as a stepping stone to get back up, not even bothering to finish the guy off before dashing to the wagon and, at last, tearing the vines off.

The last sea of bodies poured out through the proverbial levy, thumping on the ground as hands and feet flailed wildly. In the mayhem that ensued from yet more rebel elves running off in every direction, the male sentinel somehow fought to his feet and wound up the hardest punch he had, hitting Rush square in the face and bruising the troll's jaw. Rush sloppily counterpunched and actually *broke* the elf's jaw, dropping the male sentinel to the ground and ending interference once and for-

"Hey snitch!"

In his effort to throw bodies around and search for Willow, Rush hadn't noticed the group of riders leading the wagon train dismount. Two pointed ears poked up through the mist, and beady red eyes which infuriated him glared back at him with just as much contempt.

That, and the glow from a blunderbuss firing. There was also that.

Tase blasted Rush in a direct hit with an armor-piercing round. "Eat this!"


	7. Chapter 7

If the unexpected freedom they'd received amidst a unit of scrambling sentinels hadn't sent the rebel elves into a panic, then the sound of a gunshot certainly did.

Pointed rounds tore into the vindicator chestplate Rush was wearing, punching holes into the metal and splintering the chainmail shirt beneath. Sharp pains like stab wounds stung his abdomen and chest, poking straight through his skin and then to his bones. Although his ribs thankfully prevented both bullets from reaching his internal organs, his entire skeleton felt rocked right underneath his flesh, causing a weird sort of rumbling sensation on a lower level than his nerve endings. Rush stumbled back and tripped over bodies from the front wagon, crushing the sick and injured as he crawled around the other side of the wagon to take cover. Agony followed his every step as he forgot all semblance of strategy and simply tried to put space between himself and Tase. He'd been shot on the battlefield plenty of times before, but typically with flint bullets or buckshot which merely broke the surface of his skin. The way that the hollow-tipped bullets poked out from his bones like pins disrupting the layout of his skin was an unfamiliar sensation, though, and he certainly didn't want to risk taking any more direct hits from such a powerful ammunition.

He didn't even have time to think clearly before he heard the stomping of a miserable little man trying to sound big. "Where you be hiding, tough guy?" Tase taunted while searching in between the wagons. Rebels scattered this way and that, but Tase ignored them without giving chase as he sought out his fellow Darkspear. "I thought you wanted a fight?"

On the other side of the wagon, Rush struggled to his feet and happened upon a sentinel with a handful of rebel elves backed up against a tree. Her nightsaber growled to keep them in place, and she only lost focus on the group long enough to see Rush swinging a big rock he'd picked up like a sap. The overhand blow knocked her out instantly, granting him time to grab her short sword from her belt and strike down her saber when it leapt at him. Before he could say a word to the terrified elf cultists, another gunshot rang out. Dirt jumped up in the air mere inches from his unarmored foot, but instead of fleeing again, Rush ran straight toward the source of the sound.

"Where you be running to, wimp?" Tase yelled, brave until he realized that he didn't have enough time to reload before Rush caught him. "Oh shit!"

Tase turned tail and ran, jumping over injured rebels and running back around to the other side of the wagon. Rush ran after him and cursed under his breath when he realized that Tase's slight frame meant that the traitor could run faster than him. A gap opened up in between them, and Tase disappeared around the front of the wagon train.

Away from the commotion of elves fleeing and chasing, Rush broke out into the mist and the darkness of the woods in front of the first wagon. A team of eight terrified elks remained tied to the wagon train like reindeer pulling a sled, in addition to a few more untied mounts which scattered. No more riders could be seen, but the fact that Tase had escaped view long enough to reload gave Rush pause. Instinctively, he ducked among the scared elks, narrowly saving himself when another gunblast missed his leg and took out that of one of the mount animals instead.

"You can't hide forever, snitch!" Tase yelled from the mist. The sound of a reloading gun faintly clicked in between the cries of the hurt elk, making it difficult to pinpoint the traitor's location. "You be a fool to think you can escape alive; you lost the moment you tried to take on the Black Moon. You should have tried to cut a deal," Tase cackled, though the location of his voice was still difficult to pinpoint.

"Got nothing to say?" Tase yelled again. Rush remained silent and shifted position among the animals, which bucked and strained in an attempt to escape the ropes. Audibly frustrated by the lack of reply, Tase fiddled with the blunderbuss. "The longer I delay you, the less chance you got of surviving."

But then Tase stepped on a twig.

Simple as the noise was, its faint whisper came in between the crying of the injured elk, reaching the Horde loyalist so clearly that his long, batlike ears wiggled. Capitalizing on the fatal mistake, Rush cut the ropes holding the elks back and slapped their hindquarters to drive them in the direction of the sound. Each one of the animals fell into a sort of standing convulsion beyond hysteria when the unfamiliar troll struck them, kicking up grass and soil as they all bumped each other forward one by one.

A stampede ensued, every one of the hoofed animals fleeing in the same direction as the first two Rush herded toward the sound of the breaking twig. Even the injured one with a bullet in its leg ran, abandoning the convoy and their masters in fear. A final gunshot rang out and caused a heavy branch from the canopy to fall to the ground alongside the gun itself. Tase screamed like an impetuous child as he was trampled by many hooves, and the outline of his manically flailing body appeared in the mist in front of the light of the smoldering tree branch. The elks knocked him around like a rag doll as he screamed, stepping on him in the most painful manner possible as he was inadvertently beaten and battered. The scared animals disappeared into the woodlands of Darkshore, leaving dust and mist swirling in their wake. Tase's breathing was harsh and ragged, and Rush safely walked over to the crumpled shadow of a man. Contempt mutual as it was, it increased from Rush's end as he found Tase so easily broken mentally as well as physically.

"You were supposed to die," Tase gurgled into the grass.

Still refusing to respond, Rush reached for his downed opponent only to find a hand shooting out of the fog to grab him by the wrist. Five fingers overlaid by a claw gauntlet tried to hold on to him, and though Rush was able to rotate his wrist out and grab his assailant by the wrist instead, he was still impressed by the firmness of the unseen man's grip. Two amber eyes glowed at him through the mist, and the pair of long-eared opponents stared at each other down for a few seconds. The other figure, almost the size of Rush, wore thick animal furs and talismans which appeared familiar yet foreign. He didn't resist Rush holding his wrist at first, seemingly content with the staredown.

Shocking the hell out of the arms warrior, the feral druid spoke passable Orcish. "Hands off our informant," the amber-eyed creature hissed.

The warrior's free hand rested on the hilt of the short sword he'd stolen; the druid's free hand flexed in the claw gauntlet. Cries from both sides of the conflict could be heard behind them, both of their causes severely damaged at best and all but lost at worst. They were merely squabbling over the shattered body of a stool pigeon neither of them respected anyway, but with little left of the convoy, they were both prepared to fight to the death for the right to claim what was left of Tase.

Though Rush acted first, his opponent was quicker to draw. The druid raked the claw gauntlet across the meat of the warrior's exposed shoulder, dragging the sharp edges over the surface of the troll's hide and merely allowing gravity and friction to cause the damage. Three lines finely cut into Rush's shoulder, immediately drawing blood and creating a frightening loose sensation in the joint. Rush reacted by stabbing upward with the short sword, poking a hole in the elf's fur mantle and catching a minute amount of flesh before his target tried to spin away. Rush squeezed the druid's wrist, refusing to let go just yet and swinging again. His sword cut nothing but fur and leather armor, stymying his counterattack as the elf bounce this way and that with the troll's grip as an anchor.

Rather than cowering away, the elven druid didn't fight the hold. The opposite claw gauntlet came down on Rush's other shoulder repeatedly, slicing shallow cuts in between dodges and ducks on the elf's part. Even when holding on to his opponent, Rush barely scratched the druid, drawing droplets of blood and cutting the druid's fur armor to ribbons without causing serious injury. His opponent proved too complacent, however, when leaping closer and reaching up to slice off the tip of Rush's regenerated left ear. Angered at losing the extremity a second time in one night, the troll pulled hard and slammed his frame into the elf, dragging the short sword like a knife across the elf's exposed abdomen.

A quick slash to Rush's jawline caused the troll to throw the elf to the ground. Though the druid rolled away and recovered, he also knelt in pain, clinging to the disgusting open cut from waistline to chest. With blood seeping out fast, the druid wiggled the fingers of his free hand and conjured swirls of green light around his hand. Much in the manner of Rush's own regeneration, the elven druid's wound slowly began to stop bleeding and seal itself closed, though due to magic rather than biology. Rush grunted in irritation as he watched the damage he'd caused reverse itself. When he charged, however, the druid upped the ante.

Crawling backward surprisingly fast, the druid caused more green light to envelope himself, glowing and blurring his own image until he appeared to bloat. Green mist and sparks popped into the air as fur broke through the mending skin, matching the sudden addition of fat and muscle over the already svelte frame. What was once an elf became a bear, now charging right back rather than retreating.

"Damnit!" Rush growled, crashing into the bear all the same even when the entire strategy had to change. Despite his own strength and the weight of his armor, he wasn't able to push the bear back, and the two of them locked up.

Even though neither one of them could outright throw the other down, the bear was much better equipped for the exchange. Just as the short sword Rush wielded was a mere sidearm which wasn't up to par for a proper warrior, the druid's claw gauntlets were also backup weapons only. The bear's actual claws, however, along with its bulk, were primary weapons. Outmatched and out of ideas, Rush could only wrestle with the bear's neck in an attempt to prevent its fangs from biting his head off in a war of attrition he really couldn't win. Possibility after possibility floated through his mind in a matter of seconds, but each one was cut off by the bear's claws scraping on the bracers and armlets of the warrior's stolen vindicator armor. The bear constantly tried to drag its claws up to his unarmored shoulders, likely hoping to sever all the muscles and neutralize his arms. Out of alternatives, Rush twisted sideways and kicked the bear's stubby leg, granting him enough space to push the druid away and grab his short sword again.

Unfortunately for him, he left himself exposed in the process, and an arrow plunged into his exposed leg immediately thereafter. "Dag!" he grunted, realizing too late that one of the archers had been waiting for the clean shot.

He spun to see her taking aim again, the bear pulling back to wait. Too close to truly dodge, Rush acted as fast as he could, throwing the short sword like a knife. A second arrow stuck into his other left cleanly at the same time that the short sword pierced the archer's arm and nearly severed the limb. She dropped her bow and ran back toward the wagon in the mist, leaving the bear to rush at Rush. Desperate for any weapon he could find, he grabbed the blunderbuss from the ground and whacked the bear in the head with it. Though the damage was minimal and the gun broke in half, the bear was dazed, and Rush grabbed the tree branch and swung it like a two-handed club. The wood hit the bear in its bulky abdomen, breaking like the gun had but causing slightly more damage. A dazed swipe of its claws missed and left the bear open, and Rush charged the animal again and grabbed it by the head despite the throbbing pain in his legs and shoulder.

Thick and inflexible, the bear proved unable to resist as Rush put it in a headlock and tried to pry its jaws open to break them. Try as the bear might, the angle at which Rush pushed it down didn't allow it the freedom of movement to do more than dig its paws into the ground, and the troll slowly forced its jaws open. More green swirls arose as the druid transformed back into an elf and nimbly dropped to the ground and out of the warrior's grasp.

"Coward!" Rush growled as he chased the druid, though he just couldn't catch the man. The druid put distance between them and began to transform again, and though the momentary pause allowed Rush to catch up, the druid had already turned into a big cat by the time the two of them collided.

A feral roar broke out into the night as the big cat scratched wildly into the air. Rush was caught on his temple, his right ear, his uninjured shoulder, and all over his armor as razor sharp claws swiped at him like a whirlwind. Rush threw his arms up defensively, letting the bracers protect him but also taking damage to his hands as the druid went mad. Mimicking his earlier encounter with one of the non-sentient beasts, he grabbed the big cat's face and tried to blind it, finding out quickly that the druid was smart enough to dig its claws into the tops of his hands. He tossed the big cat away, stopped in his offense and more hurt because of it. The druid didn't let up, attempting to pounce on him before he could even exhale.

Truly becoming desperate, Rush winced and ripped one of the arrows out of his leg. The weapon was short, so short that the big cat actually did scratch up his shoulders badly, but such was the sacrifice to move in close. With the big cat trying to bite his nose off, Rush made his last ditch effort by stabbing the feline in the throat with the arrow.

This time, the druid's roar was weak and muffled. Too hurt to pursue, he let the big cat stumble away gracelessly into the grass. The feline transformed back into an elf in more green light, kneeling and bleeding as the man furiously cast healing spells on his neck. Rush cried out angrily as the druid fought back from the brink of death, panting and coughing but very much alive as the two battle-weary men stared each other down once again. Rush pulled the arrow out of his other leg, his only option left in the fight of his life. The elf breathed heavily and waited, making no move to restart.

No more than one step toward the druid and Rush fell to his knees, once again feeling a sharp pain from behind him as many feet ran toward him. Panic visited him once more as a blade pierced the meat of his thick neck, and he narrowly avoided a swift end by lashing out and grabbing his new assailant before the blade could meet any arteries. The male sentinel from earlier was back, grotesque broken jawbone and all as he tried to stab Rush. The troll warrior knocked the man's hand away and squeezed the sentinel's misshapen face, garnering a blood curdling scream as the compound fracture cracked even more. As if that wasn't enough, Tase had healed just enough to crawl toward the melee like a ghoul and bite Rush on the foot. The bite hurt more than the stab wound, and Rush elbowed the mangled sentinel in the back of the head and grabbed Tase by the hair. The traitor squealed fearfully and tried to crawl behind the dead mangled sentinel body, nearly succeeding due to the pain in Rush's legs. Another arrow came out of nowhere, lodging itself in Rush's shoulderblade and proverbially breaking the camel's back like a final straw.

His shoulder gave out momentarily, letting Tase hit the ground even while Rush wouldn't let go of the traitor's hair. He hit Tase so hard with his good hand that the traitorous troll screamed again, his eyes rolling back and a clump of his hair being pulled out. Yet another arrow whooshed by, striking Rush in his good foot without really causing too much more pain. In fact, he'd already taken so much damage that little more could realistically be done. The bullets stuck in his ribs, the bleeding arrow wounds in his legs, his mangled shoulders, his scratched hands, his punctured neck - all of it compounded to the point where Rush's body began to throw in the towel even when his mind was still in the fight.

Muscles burning, the arms warrior finally fell to one knee, his foot with an arrow in it curling and spasmodic. "Move, damn you," Rush grumbled at his own leg as if it had a mind and could talk back to him.

Try as he might, he wasn't able to stand back up. The muscles and tendons around the various bleeding injuries on his body twitched and refused to comply with the orders from his brain. Even though he hadn't taken damage to his organs, Rush realized that the body wasn't just a husk which could be abused indefinitely; he didn't feel like he was dying naturally, and all his rended flesh was incidental to the vital functions of his soul's container, yet he felt as if he were shutting down regardless of his willpower. Every time he breathed, he could feel his rib cage pressured by the armor piercing rounds stuck inside of him, almost a deeper part of him than his own skin which stretched around the bullet holes like a torn tent draped over its poles. He tried to push himself up with his hands, but his body just wouldn't respond to his mental commands anymore.

Amber eyes stared at him in astoundment rather than aggression. The warrior had proven so resistant even when barely armed that the druid appeared shocked that he'd finally shown signs of defeat. Even as the healing over time spell helped him to recover, the elven druid was too flabbergasted to act at first. A bow creaked, signaling the surprise of the second random archer who'd interfered as she actually held herself back from firing. The coup de grace was delayed as the two of them remained awestruck at their achievement of finally bringing down the Horde soldier who'd caused such a disruption for their plans.

Like sharks drawn to blood in the water, another figure approached in the mist. Walking as if hurt, she approached the awestruck archer with purpose in spite of a slight limp...

...and buried an axe in the archer's skull.

Gore flew in the air as an ebony-skinned soldier stumbled with the momentum of her killing blow. The archer's half-decapitated body lingered in a stiff standing position for a few seconds, giving the Mag'har orc enough time to drop her axe and throw a bundled object from her back strap to the ground in front of Tase.

Dizzy from blood loss like he'd been when nailed down in a wagon, the troll warrior picked up his wobbly head and gazed at the long, unfurled object with bleary eyes. A greatsword, the same one he'd won from the Gilnean alpha at the beginning of their ordeal, laid on the ground before him. His heart skipped a beat and trembled like a winded jogger on the last lap.

"Stop wondering how I found it and just pick it up, dummy!" Tematuri screamed at him in exasperation.

Green swirls filled his vision as the druid jumped first and shifted into bear form in midair. Every muscle in the warrior's body begged him to just die, every bone creaked like an old house waiting to be demolished, every nerve ending wept to his brain in pain, but a raw, stinging breath in his throat filled his lungs enough to rise. In a single motion, he snatched the greatsword and lunged forward, pulling the hilt upward and meeting the bear's mouth with the pommel. Fangs broke and smaller teeth fell out as the ursine yelped in surprise at the brute force behind the pommel strike of a man with an arrow sticking in his shoulder blade. With the bear's pounce stopped in midair, the troll was taken by a second wind; this time, when Rush pushed, the bear wasn't able to push back despite its bulk.

Stumbling backward inelegantly, the bearform druid wobbled and swiped at the arms warrior's face, missing when Rush pressed the greatsword's blade into the fur of the bear's arms and dragged the sharp edge across. A thin yet deep cut opened up straight through the bear's fur and skin, leading the panicked shapeshifter to lean back and avoid any deeper a cut. Like a surgeon, Rush reared back with his weapon's hilt and plunged the tip of the blade into the morphed animal's chest, chasing the backpedaling bear until more length of the blade plunged into its chest. Suddenly ripping the blade out, Rush swung again in a circular motion and cleft the druid's skull, ending a fight which had dragged on for far too long in a matter of seconds once he had a primary weapon.

With the convoy and even the mission out of his mind, Rush turned away from the night elf who'd given him the duel of his life and quickly forgot all about it. His rage still continued to build up when his eyes fell upon the true source of his ire, conscious again and trying to crawl away from him. Rush snarled and stabbed the greatsword into the bear corpse for safe keeping as he pulled the arrows from his foot and shoulder and then lifted Tase up off the ground.

The slimy little traitor kicked his legs as Rush held him in the air. Unrepentant to the bitter end, Tase didn't even offer an apology. "Loa be a witness against you," Tase hacked and coughed, "that I challenged you to hear me out!"

Ignoring the man entirely, Rush gripped Tase's chin in one bloody, wounded hand and gripped the traitor's throat in the other. Despite his own fatigue and Tase's resistance, Rush had already forgotten the near-defeat he'd been facing moments before and began to pull.

"I did this for the Horde, ha fool! We can't be giving shelter to those people! You be willing to die on the battlefield, well, it not be any different from my plan-"

One of Tase's vertebrae popped lower in his back, causing the miserable excuse for a shoulder to shriek wildly. Rush flexed his arms and squeezed until the cuts on his hands hurt again, but given how many parts of him felt like they'd been run over by a siege tank, he almost didn't notice. Instead, he continued to pull and even started to twist until Tase tried to break his thumbs, though the traitor wasn't strong enough to even make the warrior's fingers budge.

"Rush, you can't be doing this! My plan wouldn't have hurt the Horde! Helping these people won't hurt the Alliance! Think about this!"

Rush didn't think about it; he kept on pulling. A few more vertebrae in Tase's back popped, and the man's dangling feet tried to kick something, anything, to make the elongation of his neck stop. Traitorous fingernails tried to dig into the cuts on Rush's hands, but even that barely registered as he lifted Tase even higher into the air.

"Stop, you can't! We both be Darkspear - you break tribal law to do this!" Tase yelled in a last ditch effort, but to no avail. He began to gag. "Rush! RUSH! RUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

One sickening snap later and the warrior's hands flew apart in a nasty spectacle. In one hand, Rush held Tase's head with the spine attached to it; in the other, he held the rest of the literally broken man. Dizziness began to creep up on the warrior triumphant again as his rage boiled over to mix with a weary sort of afterglow. Not one to leave himself open to attack, he postponed his gloating and dropped the dead troll body parts in the grass before taking his new weapon back from the bear carcass.

To his surprise, Tematuri was still there. She'd apparently waited to see him finish what he'd started, and though she was turned halfway away from him, she didn't seem to be in a hurry. Though not wounded as grievously as he was, she certainly wasn't in good shape, and she cradled one of her arms as if the bone itself had been bruised.

Despite the swollen eye and bloody nose she had, Tematuri still had it in her to smile. "You're welcome," she half coughed and half chuckled, "for killing the rest of them."

Though the hair still stood on the back of his neck, Rush did breathe a little easier. "All of them? Even their mounts?" he asked in a winded voice.

Tematuri nodded. "Yes. We had enough with you, me, and about a dozen of those zealots we're protecting who..." She paused to catch her breath. "A dozen of them who got tired of running and actually killed one huntress and saber."

Rush smiled and grimaced at the same time; his rib cage hurt him when he tried to laugh. "Nice," he said quietly.

"Not really. It took twelve of them, and one got severely mauled by a saber...but it's over anyway. Willow is trying to get them to calm down and collect the ones who ran off. We're safe, probably for the rest of the mission. We didn't leave any survivors." Tematuri motioned to his ears, ironically ignoring all of his other injured parts. "It's safe to take a breather...for now."

Panting heavily, Rush finally felt battle exhaustion overtaking him at the sound of her words, almost like a trigger sentence. He raised his head and listened, noticing that the outright cries had stopped, as well as the familiar sounds of battle. All he could hear was soft weeping, likely for the further casualties the rebel night elves suffered. A fire crackled and lit up silhouettes in the mist; whether it was for warmth or to sabatoge the wagons was beyond him by then. While Tematuri walked back into the mist, Rush lingered in the ring of bodies for a while before following her. He lost track of her footsteps, but he easily found a group of wounded rebel elves laying in the grass near one of the wagons. A single herbalist was tending to them, and without a word Rush joined the line of people laying in the grass.

This time when his head hit the grass, there was no stomachache; just a slight ringing in his ears as he tore the vindicator chestplate off hard enough to seriously damage the leather straps and metal fasteners holding it together. He passed out to the sound of weeping and praying elves as soon as he closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Rush opened his eyes just as the light footsteps stopped near him. Rather than jolting awake, he actually had a relatively comfortable awakening - relatively being the operative word. He was sore all over, had slept wrong, and his ears weren't finished regrowing. Compared to how he'd woken up last time, though, he was in much better condition.

All around him, the sound of soft chatter could be heard. Gone was the clash of metal, the cries of the fearful, and the crackle of flames. Instead, his slowly healing ears detected bags being wrapped up, hooves clopping on the ground, and the eeriness of undead speaking.

"Can you stand up, son?"

The gravely, human-accented Orcish woke him up, and the troll rolled over to see a member of the Forsaken dreadguards standing over him. Embarrassed at being found asleep and prone, Rush tried to sit up only for his body to remind him that he was more than a little hurt from the whole ordeal in the previous hours. Wincing and grunting, he felt like he was fighting a bear all over again just to force himself into a sitting position. A stranger's leather pants had been cut down the seams and draped over him like a blanket which was too small, likely the work of the herbalist he'd passed out next to. His wounds had been bandaged with leaves and strips of an unknown animal's hair; he hadn't bled through, but everything hurt all over.

"Can you hear me?" the dreadguard asked him again.

Rush tilted his head up despite the pain in his neck. The dreadguard was a typical undead human along with half a dozen companions mingling among droves of rebel night elves who were practically sprawling in the grass. What amounted to a hobo camp had sprung up around the wreckage of burned out wagons and debris. Not a familiar face was in sight despite all the people surrounding him.

Further embarrassed to have fallen asleep without securing the area, Rush nodded his head and ignored the residual ache in his mostly-healed stab wound. "Where is...yes sir, I can hear. Where is Tematuri? Willow?"

The dreadguard knelt beside him, causing the jungle troll to wonder how bad he must have looked. "We identified and debriefed them both upon our arrival; they're both secure. Given that Willow has provided all the information we need, you will not need to be debriefed yourself. You may speak to her as you prepare to fly out."

Rush did a double take. "Fly? In the middle of nowhere? How did you..." Far too many questions entered his mind, and he realized that there would be no way for a Forsaken official to tolerate them all after having spoken to his superiors already. "Where are they?"

The dreadguard nodded, seemingly pleased when the troll warrior stopped himself from reading off a list of questions. "They'll come to you shortly to explain what happens next; they know exactly where you are. I suggest you wait...the evacuees removed two bullets from your torso and seemed concerned."

"I'll wait for them, then. Thanks for the info, sir," Rush told the dreadguard, who promptly stood up, saluted, and walked away to do more individual visits with the night elves who'd been injured but hadn't died yet.

Once the undead human had left, Rush felt his abdomen. Apparently in his sleep, the whacked out elves had been nice enough to remove the chainmail he'd been wearing and pull the bullets out of his rib cage. Strangely adhesive leaves stuck over the entry wounds, which had taken on a drug-induced tingling feeling which ran so deep into his body that he loathed to imagine how far the bullets had dug into his flesh. Crazy as they might be, the rebel night elves had taken a great deal of care for him when he'd been unconscious. Under normal circumstances, he probably should have woken up the moment less careful hands had tried to dig the bullets out.

He looked around...there were still many of them, which meant that they hadn't lost too many to vengeful sentinels in the chaos of his unplanned wagon raid. Even dirtier and more miserable looking than they'd been before, the rebels sat in the grass and mostly either prayed or held each other and mourned the fallen. Content to leave the Forsaken dreadguards to tally their ranks, the survivors appeared rather subdued, lending a somber atmosphere to the mist-laden clearing full of corpses and wooden debris.

Shortly thereafter, his two companions approached him from the other end of the clearing. Though in better shape than she'd been in during her escape, Tematuri limped as she approached him. She was bundled up in clothing likely stripped from one of the sentinels and had the luxury of proper bandages over her injuries. Willow hadn't been harmed too much, likely due to her civilian status, but she appeared winded and shaken regardless. She remained standing even after Tematuri had sat next to Rush.

"Nice to see you're moving again, soldier," Tematuri told him as she sat down and tried to fiddle with the adhesive leaves over his gunshot wounds.

He leaned away, not wanting to have the wounds disturbed just yet. "How long was I out?"

"It's been three hours, and you didn't toss or turn once," Willow answered. "You didn't even twitch. If you hadn't been breathing so deeply, these jolly fellows might have buried you. Or tried to reanimate you as cannon fodder."

She motioned toward the dreadguards with her elbow. They didn't notice. "Great," Rush said with an eye roll. "How did they find us? And how have Alliance stragglers not found us?"

Tematuri and Willow both looked at each other, but the latter spoke first. "Well, I'd sent that carrier pigeon back when we'd first found these people, and it arrived fast enough. General Garamonde at the base camp sent one back and then became concerned when it returned to him. He had the dreadguards perform a big sweep, and they spotted the wagon fires started by these rebels from a few miles away. They reached us not long after Temma rounded up all the rebel elves who'd been hiding from the sentinels."

Residual embarrassment at having slept immediately after the battle stung him. "I hope it wasn't too hard to secure the area," he said softly.

"No, it was fine; we really had taken them all out between the two of us," Tematuri said. "In fact, these renegades finished off a few sentinels who'd survived the fight at first. They aren't soldiers, but they were tired of being abused."

"I watched the camp while Temma was out, too; it wasn't hard. I just had to calm the survivors down and make sure they tended to each other, and to you," Willow added.

He grunted in acknowledgement and tried to get his bearings on their situation. "So what happens next?" he asked.

Willow sighed in relief. "Our part is over; we can go. These dreadguards are tasked with extraction. Three of their skeletal hippogriffs will take us back to base camp; the rest will stay here with them. There's no way to fly out all two hundred plus of these people, so the dreadguards will let them rest up as long as is necessary to march them all back to camp on foot. A scout team will meet them halfway to help secure their escape, too."

"And then they're with us," Tematuri added.

"Right, I was getting to that part. The General apparently has the legal authority to grant asylum. He's in the process of securing a transport ship to take these people to the Northern Barrens. Instead of just being rebel night elves, they'll be granted legal papers and live under the protection of the Horde. I'm sure there will be controversy among the less tolerant, but this is really happening either way. It's a victory in every sense of the word."

Rush listened to every word while watching the weird, unkempt night elves who'd soon be living in Horde lands. "It's a victory for them," he murmured, not really thinking before he spoke. For a moment, he worried that Willow would take exception to the comment, but she didn't seem to recognize his resentment.

"They'll be functional propaganda tools for us yet." Willow turned to walk back toward the dreadguards, but looked back at the pair of warriors. "I know you're still recovering, but let's try to fly out in the next half hour. I'll push for a leave of absence for you both to recouperate, but I'll have more success if we don't delay our return."

"Understood," Tematuri said as Willow disappeared into the mist. The orc waited a few moments before turning back to Rush. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not pleased."

He dropped his head and cut off eye contact. "Our mission is accomplished, it's okay."

"But you're not happy."

"I'm okay."

"Ral'rush, I'll be nice."

Sighing and looking back at her, he tried to remind himself that Temma was in his circle of friends, however far to the edge she might be. He was probably being more closed mouthed than he needed to. "Can you help me stand? I want to walk this off."

"Yes, I got you."

With agonizing effort, Rush leaned on Tematuri and dragged himself to his feet. Every arrow wound felt like it would open again, but his grandma had always told him that the longer the rest, the longer the recovery. After another proverbial battle, he wobbled into a loose slouching position. Tematuri grunted under his weight but didn't complain and helped him to start moving around.

The rebel elves in the immediate area stared at the two of them shamelessly. Rush had met his fair share of blood elves and even nightborne, and he knew full well that staring was *not* an acceptable behavior in any elven society. Had they been goblins, he would have tolerated it, but the fact that the stares were coming from elves irritated him; they weren't behaving in accordance with their own culture's rules.

"They bother you?" Tematuri asked while walking next to him to ensure that he didn't collapse.

"Yeah," he replied tersely while hobbling around emptier parts of the clearing. "The Horde has gone a long way for them. The Gilnean Royal Guard and the sentinels have more reason to throw everything they have against us."

"What's changed, then?" Temma countered.

"Huh? Well...not much, I suppose."

"But you're still unhappy."

"Maybe I don't have a reason to be."

She punched him in the arm, causing them both to groan. "Glad that you admit that," she said while rubbing her other arm, which had been marred by the act.

Without thinking, he let his mouth flap open again, escaping into a rare moment of honesty. "Maybe the sentinels should come after us," he murmured before realizing that he'd voiced an opinion he felt guilty for even holding. Tematuri didn't respond, which was a response in and of itself; if she wasn't shutting him down, and wasn't commenting, then she was likely concerned. "Everything Tase did...all the shit he pulled...these people have done the same," Rush muttered while watching the grass in front of them, head hung low. "They betrayed their own faction, turned their back on their people, and cut a deal with the opposing side. I feel like...a hypocrite. If I hate what Tase did - and I do - but I don't hate what these people have done, then I'd be a hypocrite. I got no reason at all to think positively about what these people did...or what I did."

Though not shunning him outright, Tematuri shook her head as soon as he finished speaking. "Tase tried to get us all killed; these people are harmless and never raised a hand against their own faction. It's not the same, Rush. It's not the same, and we're still alive. That's what matters." She didn't look up at him, signaling that the topic was closed. Indirectly reprimanded, he continued to hold his resentment inside and tried to forget about it.

The two of them walked for a few more moments before he began asking about details. "Did their shaman or priestess or whatever make it?" he asked.

"Yawen? Yes, she did. They're practically worshipping that freak right now, the sheep. Devotion to our assigned duty aside, I don't have a high opinion of her as a person. You know, I was unconscious like you when we got caught, but Willow told me that Yawen didn't even cry when her husband was cut into four pieces by the sentinels. She didn't even react. It's like she feels nothing for the people who suffer on her behalf." Tematuri paused when Rush growled. "I'm giving you more reason to be unhappy, aren't I?"

He shook his head in the direction of the elf cultists. "These people are messed up," he sighed.

"They're weird, there's no denying that. But I think Willow is right - a few of them ought to be in token positions, like front desk kind of positions in Horde embassies. It would be a great blow to Alliance PR." When he didn't answer and just continued walking, Tematuri dropped another bombshell. "That Misa lady didn't make it."

"Really? Damn...I kinda made fun of her in the last moments I saw her. Wish I'd been nicer."

Tematuri shrugged. "You didn't know what would happen. And she was one of the weirder ones. Anyway, I'm not sure how it happened. You let me and Willow out of the wagon last, and I found our weapons stashed until the seats of the middle wagon. I rallied a few of these cultists to use as living shields, and while I was finishing off the sentinels, I found Misa's body. Next to a pile of bones, of all things."

"We had one of the skeleton soldiers with us; the sentinels were dumb enough to leave it functional. I sent them to one side of the wagon train and then stayed on the other...they must have been attacked when I blew my cover."

"Nice job with the Draenei armor, by the way. Willow said one of them had escorted the smaller wagon with you in it." They paused, and Tematuri looked up at him. "This was on you, by the way. I'd be dead now if you hadn't escaped and found us."

"Strength and honor be ours to share; we be family, now," Rush replied before a melancholy moment. "I wouldn't have found you without Misa's help, though...where's her body?" Tematuri gave him the most absurd look he'd seen from her. "Just to pay my respects, weirdo."

Tematuri laughed out loud and changed directions through the wreckage turned into a makeshift camp. "I knew that. Her actual remains are in a mass sort of grass...thing that the elves conjured. Apparently, there's a small shrine they set up here to mourn their fallen instead. They'll probably only let you access that. Just remember, we need to go soon."

The two of them walked the other way through the wreckage toward a runed moonstone with wisps floating around it. A few of the elf cultists were praying, and they paid no mind to the troll and the orc who joined them briefly. Still unused to being close up to night elves who weren't trying to kill him, Ral'rush took a moment to ease into the spot he was squatting in to see the shrine.

The wisps didn't really respond to him, so he laid a hand on the lumpy moonstone rising up from the grass. It felt strangely warm to the touch.

"I ripped Tase's head off for you, Misa," he murmured to the wisps. "Just like I said I would."

For a split second, one of the little blue orbs of light stopped its orbit around the stone and twinkled. He could have sworn that the beam of light it cast shined only at him, but it could have been a combination of fatigue and imagination.

"It's time," came the sound of Willow's voice. Both the troll and the orc turned around to see her waiting with a shawl wrapped around herself. "The skeletal gryphons are ready."

"Alright, lets go," Tematuri said while rising.

Both of them began to follow a dreadguard waiting for them, but Rush lingered for a moment. The wisps had gone back to their orbit, and the night elf cultists who he'd helped to save had been absorbed into their preparations to leave. Much life was lost so those people could defect, all in the name of beliefs that were probably blasphemous. Despite having won, Rush felt like the whole ordeal had been wrong from the start. For every renegade night elf he saw there, he didn't see a loyal aspirant hoping to join the Horde; he saw a bunch of freaks who'd landed a free ride to a new home at his comrades' expense.

When he wasn't looking, the wisps which had previously been hovering around the moonstones had floated toward him and began to orbit his wrists. Surprised at first, he made no sudden movements and raised his hands up in front of him. In the palm of his hand, one of the wisps sparkled, briefly flashing an image of a happily manic face and a hand waving at him in a goofy manner. In a second, the image was gone, and the wisps returned to their stone.

A night elf cultist kneeling in the grass on the other side of the moonstone had been spying. "She says she'll follow you as your companion pet since you make such a good team," the old elf man said slowly in not-quite-fluent Orcish.

Irritated at being spied on, Rush managed to control his facial expression. The sincerity in the elderly night elf's eyes, just like that of the rest of them, young and old, made it hard for the jungle troll to display how upset he was no matter how weird and annoying the kaldorei cultists were. Rush relented and sighed, resigning himself to the annoying new companion pet he didn't even want.

"Welcome to the Horde," Rush said plainly and without commitment. The old elf only nodded and returned to his prayers.

Denied any sort of satisfaction at the completion of his mission, Ral'rush rose on aching legs which matched the angry ache in the pit of his stomach. Nightmares of the burning of Teldrassil haunted his mind as much as the dried blood on his hands did; blood that, even if it had been shed in his own defense, didn't feel like the blood of the guilty. And the more he gazed upon the fanatical faces of the crowds of night elf cultists who'd now joined the Horde, the more he felt like he'd been on the wrong side. The stench of betrayal decaying over the whole clearing nauseated him as he no longer even bothered trying to reconcile what he was involved in at Darkshore. All of it, from the War of the Thorns to this most recent foray...all of it had been built on a lie he'd conveniently accepted. The differences between the cultists, Tase, the orders of the Warchief, and even himself became blurred. Rush had betrayed his belief in right and wrong for the sake of duty and obedience, and in doing so, had lost his faith in what he was fighting for.

"Loa protect us all," he murmured, flinching and wincing from his new pet wisp's sparkling light as he joined Temma and Willow at the gryphons.

**A/N: not a happy ending, no, but a realistic one. It's also one which current expansions and roleplaying threads have guided this character. In light of that, I feel this bitter, almost bad ending is most befitting for such a story.**


End file.
